


Kaleidoscope by PJ

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, First Times, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-11 02:13:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim's world shatters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Grateful thanks to Connie, my beta reader; who, besides catching plot holes and missed words, also prevents me from performing sex-change operations on characters. An added warning, for those of you who like to know such things: Death of Minor Character within.

This story has been split into two parts for easier loading.

## Kaleidoscope

by PJ

Author's disclaimer: Nope, no lottery winnings, so they still belong to Pet Fly and Paramount. Sigh.

* * *

Part one 

Trying to control his shaking hands, the young patrolman fought to keep the hordes of curious homeward bound office workers and the just plain morbid back far enough to let Forensics and the Major Crimes detectives do their jobs. Having been on the Force for eighteen months, the young man had already seen worse sights than this--murders so gruesome that seasoned detectives would disappear behind a bush to discreetly toss their lunch. This one was, in all brutal reality, not even that extraordinary. Mugging victims who were stabbed to death were distressingly commonplace in San Francisco. Only this time, the deceased was no ordinary victim. Hastily averting his eyes when they accidentally fell on the bloody sheet covering the crumpled figure just insider the park gates, Patrolman Ron Alvarez searched the milling crowd of scientists and high-ranking police officials for any sign of his elder sister, Carla. He was worried--worried how she was dealing with investigating the murder scene of her supervisor, Carolyn Plummer. 

* * *

Biting back a wince as the overhead PA system clicked on just as he walked under a speaker, Jim Ellison turned his hearing down another couple of notches and continued making his way along the crowded airport concourse. Trust Sandburg to be arriving on a plane that landed at the last gate on the last concourse. On a Friday afternoon, to boot. A Friday when the whole city of Cascade seemed to be flying out to escape the cold, wet March weather. 

Blair had been in San Francisco for the past two weeks attending the Pan American Anthropology Conference. He'd been asked by the head of the conference, Dr. Luis Hidalgo, to prepare and read a paper on the subject of the ancient lost Chacapoya tribe of the northern Peruvian Andes. Dr. Hidalgo had read an earlier published piece concerning the tribe that Blair had written in his undergraduate days, and was fascinated by Blair's theory that the tribe had practiced mummification of their dead long before assimilation by the Incas. Once he'd gotten over the shock of being personally invited to the prestigious seminar, Sandburg had been ecstatic. 

Caught, as he always was, in the backlash of Sandburg's enthusiasm, Ellison had tried to make things a little easier on his partner by releasing the young man from his police observer duties. Not quite to his surprise, Blair had adamantly refused, citing Ellison's caseload of unusually complex crimes. A little ashamed of his relief, the detective had given in after only a token protest. Of course, as always, the grad student had sailed through the whole process, performing his habitual miraculous juggling act between work and school, and exhausting Ellison just by looking at him. 

Arriving at the gate in time to see the plane taxiing into place, Ellison gave a private grin. God, but he'd missed that kid! Going home night after night to a dark and empty loft had been uncommonly depressing and, tired though he was, Ellison had found sleep to be strangely elusive. Due to the cop's hectic schedule, they'd only been able to talk to each other three or four times, though each had left numerous messages at hotel front desks and on answering machines. Grim thoughts vanishing as he caught sight of a familiar head of chestnut curls, Ellison straightened from his slouch against the wall. Azure eyes found his unerringly and Jim found himself reeling at the resulting blazing smile. 

"Jim! It's _so_ good to see you!" Wriggling through the throng of people, Blair popped up at his partner's side, beaming. 

"Same here, Chief." Giving in to impulse, Ellison swept the smaller man close for a firm, albeit brief, hug. Pulling back, he kept one hand on a shoulder. "Should I ask how the conference went?" 

Faint blush fading, Sandburg laughed. "Oh, you can ask, man. You can ask!" 

"It went well, then." Chuckling, Ellison moved his hand to the small of Sandburg's back, giving a little push to get his Guide moving. He left it there as they wove through the crowds toward baggage claim. "So...the conference?" he prompted. 

"You should've been there! Dr. Matheson read a paper on the impact of modern technology on the indigenous peoples along the Orinoco River basin," reported Blair happily. "It was so excellent, Jim. Of course, with that fool LeDoux present, he should have been expecting that fight." 

"Fight?" echoed Jim bemusedly. These were scholars, leading men in their field--surely Blair didn't mean...? 

"Yeah," confirmed Sandburg. Sneaking a glance at his stunned partner, he went on with a grin. "Took five security guards to break it up, and old Dr. Grinnell got sent to the hospital with heart palpitations from the excitement." 

"I'll be damned," muttered Ellison, his illusions about staid academia fading rapidly. Shaking his head in dismissal, he looked over at the bright-eyed imp walking beside him. "I trust your paper didn't cause such a reaction?" To the cop's astonishment, the glow in those blue eyes switched off as the younger man flushed slightly. 

"No, not that," murmured Sandburg, dropping his gaze to the floor. 

"Chief?" Frowning, Ellison brought them both to a halt. Placing his hand back on Sandburg's shoulder, he tried to get the grad student to look at him, asking worriedly, "What happened, Chief? Didn't you get to read..." A sudden explanation for Blair's subdued behavior flashed across his mind and, to his horror, the shoulder beneath his hand started to shake. "Oh, Blair, I'm so sorry..." Trailing off awkwardly, Ellison silently cursed the narrow-minded pedants who had so obviously ridden rough-shod over his partner's hopes and dreams. Feeling Blair's shoulders beginning to quiver in earnest, he was casting about wildly for something comforting to say when a strangled noise reached his ears. 'What the hell?' 

Stiffening in realization, Ellison growled, "Sandburg..." just as that irrepressible young man gave in and started snickering. 

Face red from trying to control his laughter, eyes sparkling, Blair broke out in loud guffaws at the look of menace on Ellison's chiseled features. "Like taking candy from a baby!" he crowed. "I wish I'd had a camera!" 

"You're gonna wish you were back in San Francisco if you don't stop that cackling," threatened the Sentinel, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his own smile from surfacing. Yeah, Blair was home...thank god. Waiting impatiently for the giggles to stop, he finally demanded, "Well?" 

Laughter breaking off, Sandburg stared up at him, an unreadable expression on his face. "They applauded, Jim," he whispered, still slightly disbelieving. "Then they stood up and applauded some more!" 

Whooping loudly, Ellison grabbed him and swung him around. Uncaring of the stares they were attracting, he set the laughing anthropologist back on his feet. "That's my partner," he said proudly, ruffling tousled curls. "I never doubted you could knock those dry, old fogies on their academic butts." 

"Well, _I_ had a few moments of serious insecurity." Smile clicking off, Blair said intensely, "God, Jim--I wish you could have been there." 

"Me, too, Chief," Ellison said regretfully. "Me, too." 

Gazes locked, the rest of the world faded out around them. The electric moment was quickly broken, however, when a running man, darting for his plane, knocked against Blair, sending him staggering. Reaching out a steadying hand, Ellison got them moving again, casting a glare over his shoulder. 

Breaking the suddenly awkward silence several minutes later, Ellison asked, "Where were you last night? I left a message but you never did call me back." Thick crowds clustered around the baggage carousel, and with a squeeze of Blair's shoulder, Ellison indicated he should stay put. Fighting his way through the crush, he dialed down his senses even more to avoid being overwhelmed by the smells and noise. He spotted the new black bag he'd insisted on buying for Blair in honor of the occasion and quickly snagged it. Moments later, they were heading for the door. 

"Sorry, man," apologized Blair, staying close even though they had left most of the jostling crowd behind. "But a couple of the professors invited me out for a drink, and since they'd been so nice about my paper, I didn't really feel I could refuse, y'know?" Stepping out into the cool, damp weather, he continued, "Only it wasn't a bar they took me to, but some stupid strip club. So I sat there through one of the most god-awful drinks you will ever taste, then I said I was expecting an important phone call and had to be heading back. But, of course, I couldn't find a cab." Hands waving disgustedly, he followed Ellison over to his parked truck. "I had to walk miles before I could find one, and by the time I got back to the hotel, I was so fed up with the whole thing, I didn't even check for messages. I tried to call this morning, but you'd already left for the station," he explained, climbing in and buckling his seat belt. 

Dropping the truck into gear, Ellison backed out, tsking softly. "Only you, Chief, could turn a simple visit to a strip joint into a grand adventure." 

"What can I say?" shrugged Blair. "It's my karma." He grinned at the snort that elicited. 

* * *

Closing and locking the loft door behind them, Ellison grinned when he noticed that Blair had gone straight for the couch, flopping onto it with a contented sigh. "It's great to be home, Jim." 

"Great to have you home, Chief." Leaving the heavy luggage by the door, Jim reached into the fridge and grabbed two beers. After giving one to his partner, he stood until Blair had opened it, then clinked the two bottles together. "Simon told me yesterday he was counting the hours until you got back." 

"Oh?" said Sandburg warily, suspiciously eyeing the larger man. 

"Yeah. It's been a hectic couple of weeks, and even _he's_ behind on his paperwork." 

"Oh, gee, thanks, Jim. Nice to know I'm good for something." The sour tone didn't quite match the continuing smile in the blue eyes. 

"You're welcome." Ellison took a long swallow of his beer, then a flashing red light caught the corner of his eye. "Damn it, now who's leaving me messages!" 

He had asked Simon three days ago if he could have the weekend off since Blair was coming home, telling his captain it would take a couple of days to get his roommate house-broken again. Banks, having some idea of just how much the brooding Sentinel had been missing his Guide, had just laughed and granted the time off. The cop's cell phone had not even chirped; therefore, grumbled Ellison silently, this intrusive message was not an emergency and he was strongly tempted to ignore it. Habit won out, though, and he hit the play switch, starting slightly at the first words. 

"Jim? This is Frank Murphy. I'm sorry to bother you, but I need you to call me back as soon as possible. I tried you at the station, but they told me you had the weekend off. The number is still 555-7717." The automatic clock on the answering machine indicated the call had come in just moments after he'd left for the airport. 

"Who's that, Jim?" asked Sandburg curiously, never having heard his partner mention that name. 

"Carolyn's brother-in-law; he's married to her older sister, Terri," Ellison told him. "Wonder what he wants?" He regarded the phone with some surprise. "I haven't spoken to him in years." 

"It sounded important; maybe you'd better call him back," suggested Blair. He was proud of himself, certain that Jim hadn't heard the slight edge in his voice. When he'd talked to Jim late Tuesday evening, the detective had told him of having taken the weekend off. That thought had sustained him through the last few intensely lonely days at the seminar. Maybe they wouldn't do anything important--share a few beers and watch some sports, perhaps rent a few movies--but the most vital thing was they would be doing it together. Now it seemed someone else had need of Jim, and Blair found himself resenting the intrusion and postponement of his daydreams. 

"Yeah, guess I should." Decision made, Ellison picked up the handset, quickly punching in the numbers. As he waited for someone to pick up the other end of the ringing telephone, he wondered why Frank had chosen to call now. They'd never been close, even when he and Carolyn had been married. It was probably nothing major, yet his voice had sounded oddly tense. 

Train of thought broken when his ex-brother-in-law picked up the phone, Jim said pleasantly, "Frank? Jim Ellison here." 

Ensconced on the couch, Blair watched in stunning disbelief as every trace of color fled Ellison's face. Rising quickly, he reached the older man just as Jim grunted, "Where?" and slammed the phone back into its cradle, white-knuckled hand still gripping the handset. 

"My god, Jim, what's wrong?" Blair asked urgently, hand going out to touch a muscular forearm. 

Jaw muscle visibly clenching, Ellison barely glanced his way. "Not now, Sandburg." Running a hand over his face, he seemed to come to a decision. In three long strides, he was back at the door, grabbing his coat as he reached for the doorknob. 

"Jim!" protested Sandburg. "Where are you going? Should I come, too? Is it a case?" He stared at the broad back as Ellison came to a halt in the doorway. 

Taking a deep breath, the cop said quietly, "No, it's not a case." 

"Then what?" Sandburg was completely bewildered. 

"I said not _now_." Spine rigid, Ellison seemed to come to the end of his patience. "What part of that is so difficult to understand?" he retorted coldly. Halfway out the door, he added, "Expect me when you see me." 

Eyes wide with hurt and astonishment, Sandburg stood there a moment, staring blankly at the closed door. Then, moving jerkily, he picked up his luggage and went into his room. "Welcome home, Blair," he muttered under his breath as he shut the door. 

* * *

Hours later, still somewhat numb with shock, Ellison let himself into the dark loft. Bemusedly, he looked around, taking an experimental sniff. There was not a thing out of place in the pristine loft, no lights burned--not even in Blair's room--and no lingering odor of food drifted on the air. 'Where's Blair?' he thought in alarm and some guilt, having overheard the kid's comment on his way out of the building. He hadn't meant to take the news out on his roommate, it was just that Sandburg had been there and convenient. Finally, he caught the sound of the familiar heartbeat, and his brow furrowed, puzzled. 'Huh? What's he doing on the balcony in this weather? He hates the cold and wet!' Opening the glass doors, he let his eyes adjust before he spotted his partner, sitting in a chair where the deepest shadows lay. 

"I'm sorry there's no supper made, but I didn't expect you back tonight." Sandburg's voice was level and distant. "I thought you might be busy making the arrangements." 

Ellison asked gingerly, "How did you...?" 

"Joel stopped by to ask if you needed anything. He seemed a little confused when I told him I had no idea what he was talking about." There was no condemnation in the flat voice. Standing suddenly, Sandburg made to push past the bigger man. "I'll fix you something to eat." 

"Look, Chief, I..." Ellison said awkwardly. He reached out, but stopped short of actually touching Blair. 

"You don't owe me any explanations, Jim." Sandburg again made to retreat into the loft. "I understand totally; Carolyn was your ex-wife. I'm the one who should apologize. I forgot and overstepped the boundaries. It won't happen again, I promise." 

Boundaries!? Feeling as though the world was tilting dangerously beneath him, Ellison abruptly reached out, grabbing a tense forearm. "Don't say that!" he hissed vehemently, becoming more than a little unnerved at Sandburg's uncharacteristic coolness. "I'm sorry, Chief; honestly. It's just been a rough couple of weeks, that's all. You were gone, then, Dad, and now this..." 

Resentment eased at the slightly incoherent explanation. 'You were gone...' Sandburg sighed. 'Let it go--just let it go.' It was obvious that Jim was hurting, and that was something Blair could never ignore. "It's okay," he said softly, giving the hand on his forearm a pat. "C'mon, Jim, let's go in and I'll get you something to eat." Waiting until he heard the tired "okay", the grad student led his partner into the dark loft and eased him onto one of the dining table chairs. Purposefully keeping the stimulation low, Blair only turned on the light above the stove as he began a quick stir-fry. Hoping the quiet atmosphere would help Jim talk, he said softly, "I'm really sorry about Carolyn, Jim. Are you all right?" 

"Yeah. Just tired, y'know." Running a hand over his face, Ellison sagged against the back of the chair. "It just seems so senseless...a random mugging, for god's sake!" 

"Do the police have any suspects? I mean, it's been over twenty-four hours, right?" 

"They got a pretty good description from a group of kids playing football, so they think they know who they're looking for. They just haven't been able to locate him, yet." Gaze fixed on his clenched hands, the cop said hesitantly, "The funeral is Monday morning here in Cascade..." 

Having no difficulty reading his partner at the moment, Blair replied, "Sure, man; no problem. I can get Dennis to take my class." He slid a plate full of hot food in front of the seated man. 

The smile was small, but genuine. "Thanks, Chief." He frowned suddenly. "How come you're not eating?" 

"It's okay, Jim. I went over and checked my mail at the university earlier. On the way back, I stopped at Lazlo's and picked up a sandwich. Now, eat your supper before it gets cold." 

Obediently, Ellison picked up the fork and started his meal. 

Retrieving the beer from the fridge, Sandburg handed one over; sliding into a chair, he opened his as he watched Ellison eat. The question he wanted to ask was about a sensitive subject, but Jim had mentioned it first. "Uh, Jim," he queried tentatively, "did you say you heard from your dad?" 

To Sandburg's relief, Ellison seemed largely unperturbed by the question, though he grimaced. Taking a swallow of beer, the cop said laconically, "Heard from his lawyer." 

"His lawyer?" 

"Yeah. A nice legal letter arrived by registered mail this past Monday--made my whole day, let me tell you." Biting his lower lip, Ellison glanced quickly at the younger man, then returned his gaze to his plate. "Dad died a week ago Thursday; I went to his memorial service on Tuesday." 

"What!?" Regaining his breath, Blair stared at his partner. "Jim, that's just... I mean..." He floundered helplessly, aghast that his friend had had to attend such a stressful event without support. 

"No shit." A small grin lit the grim face for a brief moment, then was gone. Taking a deep breath, he met the concerned eyes. "I'm not that surprised he didn't tell me he had cancer; that would have meant acknowledging his own mortality. Poor Stephen was out of the country when it happened. I found out from Katherine that he'd received a letter at home with the news the same day I did." 

"Is Stephen all right?" He'd gotten to know the younger Ellison fairly well since the brothers had decided to bury the hatchet. Unfortunately, he wasn't Jim and would never be, and Blair couldn't seem to make himself see past that biased judgment. 

"He's coping." Ellison finished his meal and took a swallow of beer. "I called again yesterday and talked with Katherine. Stephen wasn't able to get a flight back to Cascade until tomorrow morning." 

"Jenny's okay?" Sandburg admitted to a giant soft spot for the six year old. A lot of it was due to the fact that she was Jim's niece and had big, cornflower blue eyes like her uncle. 

Ellison nodded. "Thank god she's too young to really understand, and she's never met Dad. Katherine was telling me she'd only met him twice herself in the nine years she and Stephen have been married." 

"So what did the lawyer want? Besides telling you about the memorial service, I mean." 

Giving another grimace, Jim stood up and carried his plate over to the sink. "He's going to read the Will on Monday afternoon. Great timing, huh? The lawyer wants me and Stephen to be there." 

"Are you going?" 

"Depends. If you go with me, yeah." Ellison gave another small grin at the surprised look on the expressive face. "I am not going to sit through a tedious afternoon with a snooty lawyer on my own, Sandburg." 

Making a grimace himself, Blair got up to put his beer bottle in the recycling bin. "That means I'll be stuck in a suit for most of the day," he said gloomily. Over the last year, he had--somewhat reluctantly--added a couple of good suits to his wardrobe. 

"You bet," answered Ellison, sinking onto the couch and reaching for the TV remote. "Cheer up, Chief. I thought you would be used to ties now, after that booze-up with your pal Hidalgo last week." He gave an inward chuckle, remembering the disgust in his Guide's voice when he'd told Jim about the occasion. 

"It wasn't a booze-up, Jim; I told you that," denied Sandburg automatically. "We went to dinner with several other professors and discussed the commonalities among the ritual blood sacrifices of the Epi-Olmecs." 

"I see." Ellison nodded, keeping his face grave and interested. 

Sandburg snorted and he landed a light slap on the strong shoulder. "You want another beer?" 

"Yeah." A smile lighting his tired eyes, Ellison stared after his partner. "You might want to make some popcorn, too, Chief." 

"Why?" Blair was already reaching for the low-fat canola oil as he put the popcorn pan on the stove and turned on the heat. No irradiated, microwave cardboard garbage for him and his Sentinel--they only ate the real thing. 

"We'll need it to go with this." 

Finishing measuring the kernels into the smoking vessel, Blair put the lid on the pan before he turned to see what Jim was holding up. His eyes widened. "Oh, man--'Mountains of the Moon'!" he enthused. "This is great, Jim!" 

"I thought you'd say that," chuckled Ellison, inserting the movie into the VCR. He waited to start it as Blair was busy tending to the delicious smelling snack. "Seemed like a good way to welcome you back home; and one about Sir Richard Burton seemed even more appropriate." 

"This is so cool," declared Sandburg, coming back laden with two beers and a big bowl of steaming popcorn. Sinking onto the couch beside his partner, he handed Ellison his beer and put the bowl between them. "When did you pick this up?" 

"On the way home..." The pause was slight, but noticeable. "...this evening." Twisting to face the younger man, Ellison said regretfully, "I really am sorry, Chief. Please believe me." 

"I know." Blair held his gaze steadily. "Carolyn was a fine person." 

It seemed like eons before Ellison was able to tear his gaze away from the depthless azure eyes. "Let's get this show on the road," he laughed somewhat shakily and hit the play button on the remote. 

"Sure, man." Sandburg's voice was a little subdued, but he turned to the TV readily enough. 

* * *

Attention ostensibly on the road, Sandburg flicked a glance at the rigid figure sitting in the Volvo's passenger seat and gave an inward sigh. Carolyn's funeral that morning had been just as hard on his partner as he'd anticipated; the forthcoming visit with William Ellison's attorney was only going to make a bad day worse. Braking for a red light, his eyes once again found Jim's too-controlled face, noting the tightly clenched jaw and hooded eyes, gaze lingering on the purple, swollen lump just above the cop's left eye. 'A couple of inches--oh, god, the doctor said if it had been only a couple more inches to the left...' Shuddering away from that thought, Blair forced his mind back to the present, pulling away from the light with a small lurch. 

Thoughts broken by the sudden jerk of the car, Ellison looked over at the younger man and gave a sigh. As hard as that morning had been for him, it had been doubly so for Sandburg. When he'd made that hesitant request for Blair to accompany him to Carolyn's funeral, Ellison had not been thinking past his own need for the anthropologist's comforting presence. Consequently, he'd been startled by the icy politeness at the funeral and again at the graveside. Anger had surged through him as he'd belatedly realized that the looks of contemptuous disdain were aimed at the quiet figure at his shoulder. Though Blair had said nothing, Ellison knew the grad student had been aware of the atmosphere. Yet, Sandburg refused to leave Ellison's side, his elevated heart rate and respiration the only sign of his discomfort. Carolyn had never made any secret of her dislike of Sandburg, unable or unwilling to look beyond the long hair and frenetic energy. Obviously, her conservative, upper middle class family shared the same opinion and were not shy about letting their disapproval of the unconventional young man show. 

The situation had almost turned ugly after the graveside service as, on their way back to the Volvo, Ellison and Sandburg had passed right by Paul Plummer, Carolyn's father. Fighting back his anger, Ellison had been ready to offer the expected social consolation when he noticed the scornful sneer on the older man's face as he'd glanced dismissively at Blair. At that point, protective instincts took over and, uncaring if he made a scene, Ellison had opened his mouth to verbally shred his ex-father-in-law. The messy confrontation had only been avoided by the pressure of a hand on his forearm and a soft, "Jim." Reining in his temper, Ellison had settled for glaring and was gratified when Plummer actually fell back a step, his brown eyes full of wary shock. His point obviously taken, Ellison had turned away and, placing an arm around Sandburg's shoulders, gently urged his partner toward the car, smiling when Blair automatically slung his own arm around Jim's waist. Getting into the car, the cop had glanced back, stone-faced, at the disapproving stares from Plummer and the other attendees. 

Brought back to the present by the Volvo stopping at another light, Ellison asked quietly, "You okay there, Chief?" 

Not pretending to misunderstand, Sandburg assured him, "I'm fine, man." He looked over at the other man, a wry smile lifting one end of the lush mouth. "Really," he insisted, seeing the doubtful look in the sky blue eyes watching him. "You can turn down the Blessed Protector dial any time. It's not like I haven't gotten that reaction from people before. I'm used to it." 

His own voice...'neo-hippie, witch-doctor punk'...echoing in his head, Ellison shifted uncomfortably in the seat. "It's stupid," he mumbled, eyes apparently on the passing scenery as they started moving again. 

"I know. It's just people, man. Don't let it get to you." His own protective genes thoroughly engaged, Sandburg said diffidently, "You sure you're up to this, Jim? You know you can call the lawyer and re-schedule this meeting. I mean...what with that knock on the head and then the funeral this morning, maybe you should rest some first." 

Suddenly clued in to the source of the younger man's unease, Ellison said levelly, "I'm fine, Chief. It's only a bump." A faint smile in his eyes, he teased, "Now who needs to turn down the dial?" 

"Very funny, man." Taking a deep breath, Sandburg consciously tried to relax his over-tense muscles. Yesterday evening had scared him badly and he wasn't shy about admitting that to himself. 

After Jim had left Sunday evening to collect supper from their favorite Chinese restaurant, Blair had seized the opportunity for a quick shower. Dressed again in a clean pair of faded jeans and an old CPD sweatshirt of Jim's he'd appropriated, Blair had set about getting out plates, glasses and silverware. That task finished, he'd started picking up the living room, only becoming aware of the passage of time when he'd happened to glance at the kitchen clock. He'd stood there, newspaper in hand, frowning a little. 'The Emperor's Palace' was not that far away; Jim should have been back twenty minutes ago. Telling himself that his partner must've encountered unexpected traffic, Blair hadn't started to seriously worry until another fifteen minutes had gone by. He spent the next fifteen minutes pacing frantically, pulse increasing with each tick of the clock's second hand, visions of Jim walking unknowingly into an armed robbery fueling his fear. Finally deciding to call Simon--by this time, Blair didn't care if he was over-reacting or not--he had just reached the phone when its shrill ring pierced the quiet loft. Aware of a sense of dread tightening his chest, he'd picked up the receiver with a shaky hand. A minute later, he was running down the hallway, the echo of the slamming loft door ringing through the building. 

Apprehension still tearing at him, he'd arrived at Cascade General ER a scant ten minutes later. Bursting through the glass doors, he'd headed straight for the receptionist, sliding into the wooden desk, demanding his partner's whereabouts and condition. New to the job and rattled by the abrupt appearance of the long-haired, wild-eyed young man before her, the clerk had attempted to stonewall. Giving up in mounting fear and frustration, Blair had turned to storm the examination rooms when he felt a hand on his shoulder and had looked up into the face of Tom Warne, an uniformed officer he and Jim had worked with many times. Once he'd seen he had the younger man's attention, Warne had said clearly, "He's all right, Sandburg." Breath leaving him in a rush, Blair had offered no resistance when Warne had gently steered him over to a chair in a corner of the waiting room and urged him to sit. 

It hadn't been an armed robbery, after all--just someone running a red light, driving what turned out to be a stolen car. Luckily, Jim had seen the car coming and had managed to react quickly enough or the accident could have been much worse. While the Ford was going to need extensive bodywork from having plowed into a street lamp avoiding the other car, Jim had come away with only a bump on his head. If he'd lost consciousness, it had only been for a moment or so, for he had been climbing out of the truck when the EMT's and police had arrived. Warne and his partner, McIlvey, had put out an APB on the other car after getting a description from witnesses, and then had set about the enormous task of helping the paramedics convince Ellison to go to the hospital for a check-up. Deadpan, Warne reported that what had decided the whole matter was McIlvey's quiet statement "Do I need to call Sandburg?" Glaring at the officer, Ellison had then ungraciously crawled into the back of the ambulance. 

Giving a snort of laughter, Blair had relaxed, letting his head fall back against the wall. Warne had then gone on to apologize; Ellison had asked him or McIlvey to call Blair, knowing the officers would tell him in such a way Sandburg wouldn't get too upset. Unfortunately, McIlvey had been side-tracked by a drunk causing a disturbance in one of the exam rooms, and Warne had decided to fill in Dispatch first. That accomplished, he was about to call Sandburg when McIlvey appeared, wearing a long face, and reporting that the ER receptionist had already notified Ellison's partner. Squaring their shoulders, both officers had gone back into the ER to tell Ellison. Well into his tirade about hospitals and their irresponsible staff, Ellison had suddenly stopped dead then, cursing fluently, he'd started to climb off the gurney. McIlvey grabbed him as he swayed, and demanded to know what the hell Ellison thought he was doing. The detective answered tersely that Sandburg had just arrived and that he was going out there before the kid worked himself into a heart attack. Marveling that Ellison had heard his partner's arrival while all he heard was the noise and confusion of a busy ER, Warne had offered to go reassure Sandburg. 

A horn honk brought him out of his reverie; Blair turned to give his partner a searching glance. Clearly able to see the thoughts going on behind the worried eyes, Ellison said soothingly, "Chief, I'm fine--really. Yeah, I have a headache, but it's only tension. Let's just get through the next few hours, all right? Then we can go home and relax." 

"If you say so, Jim." Clearly Sandburg was not convinced, but was willing to drop the subject for now. He asked, "We've got an hour before your appointment. Wanna stop and get something to eat?" 

"Sure." At the mention of food, Ellison's growling stomach reminded him that he'd been too tense to eat breakfast. "How about Itla..." he started to say, only to have his jaw drop when Sandburg swung into the parking lot of Wonderburger. 

Sandburg parked and turned off the car, giving a rueful grin when he saw the stunned look on his partner's face. "You tend to get cranky when the grease level in your blood gets low," he joked. "You really don't need that today." 

"Gee, thanks, Sandburg," shot back Ellison, climbing out of the car. It was a struggle to keep the grin off his face. "Can I help it if I like meat once in a while? Pre-civilized man didn't live on tofu alone, y'know." 

Ignoring him, the grad student led the way across the parking lot and into the fast food joint. Upon entering, he commented, "It's filling up fast. You go grab a booth and I'll get us something to eat." Silencing the incipient protest with a stern look, Sandburg stated, "Your headache won't like standing in a crowded line and you know it. Go sit down, man; this one's on me." Not giving the other man time to argue, he strode off toward the packed counter. 

Shrugging, Ellison did as he was told, easing into a vacant booth in a corner. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on turning down the pain dial just as Sandburg had taught him. In a few minutes, he sighed as the throbbing in his temples slowly died away. He opened his eyes to see Blair approaching with a laden tray. Giving a reassuring wink at the poorly-disguised worry on his Guide's face, Ellison reached for the tray. "Thanks, Chief. My poor stomach thinks my throat's been cut." 

Bemusedly watching the cop eagerly sinking his teeth into the burger, Sandburg wrinkled his nose in disgust and pulled his meal toward him. He really didn't care for the so-called 'salads'--a pile of limp lettuce, one piece of unripe tomato, and some sort of mystery greenery--served here, but Jim loved this place and it was the least he could do for his friend on this very stressful day. Hoping to keep Ellison's mind off the forthcoming interview with his father's attorney, and to hide the fact he wasn't eating, Blair launched into a series of anecdotes concerning the seminar. 

Forty-five minutes later, they were on their way again. The nearer they got to the swanky mid-town office, the more tense Ellison became. After pulling into the building's parking complex and into a slot, Sandburg quietly turned off the engine. Hiding a sigh at the sight of the tightly clenched jaw muscle, Sandburg climbed out of the car and turned to his partner. 'Jim's definitely gonna need dentures before he's forty if he keeps this up', he thought wryly. 'It's a wonder he doesn't already have TMJ.' 

Still silent, he trailed the larger man across the garage to the bank of elevators. Once inside, he sidled close to the cop's shoulder, flinching slightly when the apparatus moved upward with a jerk. 

"Hang in there, buddy," came a low voice as a reassuring hand pressed against the small of his back. "We're only going up two stories, here. You've fallen farther than that." 

"Ha ha. Don't give up your day job, man; you're no comedian," Sandburg said blackly. Grimacing, he looked up at the man beside him. "Sorry, Jim." 

"No need to apologize, Sandburg. That was a pretty rough experience; give yourself time to get over it." Just then, the elevator dinged and the door slid open. Keeping his hand on Sandburg's back--'For your comfort or his, Jimmy?'--Ellison got them moving down the carpeted hall. He paused outside the door to the attorney's office, then glanced down into the concerned eyes watching him intently. "Here we go," he said softly. "I can hear Stephen." 

"You can do this, Jim," Sandburg assured him quietly. "I know things still weren't right between your dad and you, even after finding Bud Heydash's killer. But if you don't do this, you'll end up hating yourself later. I won't let you do that to yourself, man. Not if I can help it." 

"My conscience now, are you, Jiminy Cricket?" asked Ellison, his clear blue eyes shining with amusement and affection. 

"You betcha," agreed the younger man. Blair nodded his head at the door. "Now, get in there so we can get this over with. This tie is damn near strangling me." 

"Poor Chief," crooned Ellison, barely hiding his laughter. Opening the door, he ushered his partner in ahead of him. 

Going up to the impressive desk situated in the center of the room, Jim addressed the middle-aged, neatly attired woman sitting there. "My name is James Ellison; I have a 1:00 appointment with Mr. Carstens." 

"Of course, Mr. Ellison." A brief, professional smile flashed across the heavily made-up face. "Mr. Carstens asks that you go in immediately. Your brother is already here." 

"Thanks." 

As they entered the expensively furnished office, Ellison felt Blair move a little closer to him. Uncertain if the gesture was intended as a show of silent support, or if the younger man was feeling intimidated by the ostentatious display of conspicuous consumption, Jim put his hand on the grad student's shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. 

"What the hell happened to you?" demanded Stephen, staring at his brother with wide eyes. "You look like you hit a brick wall with your head!" 

"No, just a windshield," quipped Jim. Reaching out to shake Carstens' hand, he glanced back to see a frown settled on Stephen's face. "I'm all right, Steve," he added hastily. "I just had a small accident with the truck, that's all." 

"If you say so." There was still a doubtful look on the younger Ellison's face. 

"I do." Jim looked around. "Where's Katherine?" 

"Jenny has a dance recital this afternoon. I had planned on being there myself, but... School or no school, when I'm done here, we're taking a trip up to the cabin. We all could use the down time." Stephen gave a quick grin as he gestured at the silent anthropologist. "I see you brought back-up." 

"Always." Nudging the smaller man forward, Jim introduced him to the attorney. "Mr. Carstens, this is my partner, Blair Sandburg." 

Feeling slightly nettled by the faint patronizing undertone to Stephen's voice, Blair was not particularly pleased to see the speculative gleam in the lawyer's eyes. He said nothing, however, vowing not to add to Jim's already high stress level. Seating himself in the leather chair next to his partner's, Sandburg kept his mouth shut and attempted to become background. His years in college not having been wasted, he was soon busily planning a class lecture while maintaining an alert, attentive expression. So engrossed was he in his mental exercise, that he was considerably startled when Jim suddenly swore loudly and shot to his feet. 

"I can't believe he did that!" shouted the cop before Blair could get his mouth open. "Shit, I can't believe he would _do_ that to me; he knew how I felt. I didn't want any of his money when he was alive, what the hell made the old bastard think I'd want half of it now that he's dead?" 

"Half!?" squeaked Sandburg, eyes going round. Fortunately, no one was paying any attention to him and he was able to pick up his jaw in privacy. "Jim..." he started softly. 

"I don't have to take it and he can't make me!" growled Ellison stubbornly. "You tell 'em, Chief!" With that, he banged out the office door. 

Pasting a sincere smile on his face, Sandburg turned back to the shell-shocked lawyer. 'Probably never had anybody turn down that much money before', he thought charitably. "I'm sorry, Mr. Carstens," he began. "Jim has had a very trying morning. Also, he and his dad haven't exactly seen eye to eye on most things for quite some years now. Your announcement just caught him off guard." 

"What happened, Blair?" asked Stephen when Carstens remained silent. "I know he and Dad had their differences, but this is a little out of proportion, isn't it?" He threw his hands up in the air, sighing in exasperation. "Shit, I told Dad he was going to make this difficult!" 

Biting back the surge of annoyance that always flared when he was around Stephen too long, Blair answered quietly, "Jim's ex-wife, Carolyn Plummer was killed Thursday afternoon. Her funeral was this morning." 

"My god." 

"That's all right, you didn't know. As for your dad's legacy, you have to remember, Stephen, that Jim doesn't view money and material possessions in quite the same way as your father did." 'He doesn't worship at the shrine of the all-mighty dollar, you tight-assed capitalist!' 

"But..." Before Stephen could protest further, the office door opened again to admit Jim. 

Somewhat shame-faced, the big detective walked up to Carstens' desk and apologized, "I'm very sorry for my outburst, Mr. Carstens. All I can say in my defense is that you took me by surprise." 

"I-If you feel that strongly about it, Mr. Ellison," stammered the still-nonplused attorney, "we could always..." 

"No, that's all right." A strange glint in his eye, Jim glanced over to see his partner staring at him suspiciously. Keeping his face straight with an effort, Jim asked, "How much was that again?" He was rewarded with a look of pure astonishment from Blair. 

"Jim?" 

Peripherally talking in the rest of the room, Ellison was puzzled by the shocked look that crossed his brother's face. Filing that thought away for later, he returned his full attention to his bewildered Guide. "I don't know, Chief," he drawled slowly, "that's an awful lot of money." Taking in the speechless Sandburg in satisfaction, he added, "Just think of the expeditions that money could support. Or do you think scholarships would be better?" 

Sandburg goggled for a moment, then a blinding smile lit his face. "Oh, wow, that would be so cool, man!" Belatedly, Sandburg tried to get a grip on his enthusiasm. "Are you sure, Jim? I mean, this is your money; your dad left it to you." 

"I'm sure, Chief. I want no part of that money; I already have all that I need." Ellison's grin was wide and unfeigned. "We'll discuss it later. You can set these things up now, or you can do it after I'm gone. It really doesn't matter." 

"Excuse me?" Carstens had gone back to being flabbergasted. "I'm afraid I don't quite follow you, Mr. Ellison. After you've gone where?" 

Eyes never leaving his partner's beaming face, Jim answered quietly, "Everything of mine--money, loft, the works--is Blair's when I die. I've already taken care of the legalities. If he wants, he can wait until after I've died to set those things up. The decision on what to do with the money, and when, is his." 

"Oh, Jim," whispered Blair, refusing to let the sudden tears spill over. There really didn't seem to be anything else to say. 

* * *

Jim glanced over at his silent partner as the Jags game faded to a commercial. Curled up at the other end of the couch with a textbook open on his lap, Sandburg was ostensibly studying, but the faraway look in his eyes betrayed him. The younger man had been uncharacteristically subdued since they had left Carstens' office the previous afternoon. Knowing that Blair was still trying to come to terms with Jim's shocking statement, the cop had set about ignoring the long, speculative looks cast his way, followed by lip-biting concentration. Stifling his inner worry, Ellison turned back to the TV as the game resumed. Jim hadn't planned on ever revealing the contents of his Will but, suddenly, it had just seemed like the right thing to do; to let Blair know exactly how much he meant to Jim, even if the cop couldn't ever say it out loud. 

"Jim." 

The soft voice breaking into his thoughts, Ellison turned back to his partner. "Yeah, Chief?" 

"About yesterday afternoon..." Blair watched as the older man's jaw muscle clenched, but he forged on. "I just wanted to say thank you, man. For everything." The stunned disbelief on the handsome face caused a small grin. 

It had been difficult, incredibly so, to get past his instinctive reaction to the news that he was Jim's heir--the sheer, overwhelming emotional denial that Jim could die and leave him alone had been almost impossible to overcome. Once he had forced his way through that obstacle, Blair had had to fight the urge to flatly refuse to accept any or all of the intended gifts. Luckily, the thinking part of his brain had managed to convince the emotional portion that to refuse would be tantamount to grossly insulting Ellison. Jim would take it as a betrayal and rejection, of him and his friendship. Sighing, Sandburg had forced himself to accept that Jim was just doing what came naturally; he was trying to take care of Blair, even after his death. Once again cursing the fact that Ellison had taken the Blessed Protector gig a bit _too_ literally, Blair had acknowledged he was beaten. 

"You're welcome, Chief." More relieved than he could express, even to himself, that Sandburg had chosen not to fight him on this all-important issue, Ellison asked curiously, "Decided yet what you're going to do with all that money from Dad?" 

"Yeah." Putting aside his book, Blair gave a huge grin. "I spoke with Mr. Carstens this morning. Soon as I sign on the dotted line, the William Ellison Anthropology Scholarship will take effect. Its target group is minorities and kids from underprivileged areas." 

Jim bit down on a choke of laughter, well knowing what his father would have thought of that idea. Looking at his partner's dancing eyes, he knew Blair was perfectly aware of what he had done. "You use the whole thing on the scholarship?" 

"Nah, just about half." Sandburg abruptly sobered. He looked down at his hands, then taking a deep breath, said, "The other half went into the creation of another scholarship fund at the university." 

"Oh?" 

"It's...it's for something other than anthropology, though." Grabbing his courage in both hands, Blair looked Jim in the eye. "Mr. Carstens told me the Carolyn Plummer Scholarship in Forensic Sciences can be in effect soon." 

"Chief...why?" Jim was amazed he could talk over the boulder lodged in his throat. 

"You still cared about her, and regardless of how she felt about me, she still cared about you, too. I thought this was a good way to make sure that a bit of Carolyn lived on." Eyes dropping once more, Blair went on in a small voice, "And...I wanted to make you proud of the way I used your dad's money." 

Ellison couldn't have stopped himself if he had tried. Reaching out, he pulled the smaller man into a close hug. Kissing the top of the curl-covered head, he admitted in a raw voice, "You make me proud every day, just by being you. But, thank you, Chief; what you did means more than you can ever know." 

Judging by the tight grip Sandburg had around his waist, Jim decided Blair wasn't going anywhere soon. Sighing contentedly, he settled back against the couch, his armful tucked tightly against him. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew he would soon have to deal with what this act had revealed about Blair's feelings. Not to mention, come to terms with his own turbulent emotions, but not now. This moment, right now, was perfect, just as it was. 

Unnoticed, the TV set blared with sound as the Jags won the game. 

* * *

Hurrying into the Major Crimes bullpen Wednesday afternoon, Sandburg bit back a smile when he caught sight of his partner. A ferocious scowl in place, Ellison was muttering darkly at his computer. 

Drawing closer, Blair heard, "Come on, you misbegotten son of a toaster oven! I know the file is in there; cough it up!" 

Sliding his backpack off his shoulder, Blair commented, "You keep swearing at that computer, man, and it's just going to get more stubborn. Now what has it supposedly eaten?" 

Ellison transferred the scowl to his partner. "I finished the report on the Manfred case this morning before I had to go to court, but I didn't have time to print it out. Now, the damn thing says the file doesn't exist!" 

Airily motioning the larger man out of the chair, the grad student slid behind the desk and punched a few keys. Ellison stood behind, arms crossed defiantly across his chest, watching as a puzzled frown crossed the mobile face. "What, Sandburg?" 

"Umm, Jim... You did remember to hit 'save' when you were done, didn't you?" The doubtful tone was perfectly done. 

The sound of Simon's door opening broke into the cop's defensive protests. 

"My office, Jim; you, too, Sandburg." The captain's deep voice held an odd undertone. 

Jim shrugged in response to the confused glance Blair gave him, then waved his partner in ahead of him. Once he was through the door, he closed it and asked, "What's going on, Simon?" 

Leaning against his desk, Banks waved them into the chairs in front of his desk. "I just had a phone call from Sheriff Lansing of Beech County. He was looking for you, Jim, but I told him I wanted to speak with you first." 

Frowning slightly, Jim prompted, "What about, sir?" 

"Jim, I'm sorry, but..." Drawing a deep breath, Simon went on softly, "Late last evening, a couple hiking along the Saber River up near Alnisha Point, found an overturned Jeep Cherokee in the river. Lansing said it looks as if the driver lost control on the tight bend in the highway and rolled down the slope." 

A sudden chill iced through Ellison, and he stiffened. Peripherally aware of Sandburg's hand on his forearm, he asked harshly, "Was it Stephen's?" 

"I'm afraid so." Gently, Banks continued, "Katherine and the little girl were found in the car...both appeared to have died from massive head injuries." 

Ashen, jaw muscle jumping furiously, Jim managed to ask, "What about Stephen?" Beside him, pale and shaking, eyes huge with shock, Blair maintained his death grip on his partner's arm. 

Banks swallowed a couple of times, then said grimly, "It looks like he was ejected from the jeep and went into the river. They sent out recovery parties at first light this morning." 

"Oh, dear god," breathed Sandburg, gasping with the suddenness of it all. 'Dear lord, not Stephen, not him, too. Not now. Oh, god, Katherine and little Jenny... My poor Jim...' Fiercely blinking away the tears, Blair had just opened his mouth when Ellison abruptly jerked his arm free and came to rigid attention in front of Banks. 

"Captain Banks," he ground out, jaw muscle clenched so tightly he could barely speak, "I'm requesting leave time so I may find my brother's body. The report on the Manfred Case is only lacking my signature, and I finished in court this morning on the Wiznoscki murders." 

"Already done, Jim," Banks replied compassionately. "You've got five days. Just sign off on the Manfred file and you're out of here." 

"Thank you, sir." Nodding stiffly, Ellison was halfway out the door when he noticed his ever-present shadow. Turning back, he put a hand on Sandburg's shoulder. "Not this time, Chief. You've got mid-terms this week, remember?" 

"I'll work something out." Just what, Blair had no idea, but he plowed on anyway. "You're going to need some help with this one, Jim. You know you will." 

Forcibly biting back the harsh words which wanted to escape, Jim took a deep breath and met his partner's determined gaze. He was not going to verbally flay Blair again, he was not. Sandburg only wanted to help; Jim knew that. Unfortunately, missing mid-terms was not something to contemplate lightly. "Look, Chief, I appreciate the thought. I really do. But, you and I both know it's impossible." 

"I'm coming along," insisted Sandburg. "Look, man--you're mentally exhausted from the heavy load this last month; it's obvious you haven't been sleeping all that well, plus that knock on the head is still bothering you, I can tell; and emotionally, well, your dad, then Carolyn, and now...this. Face it, Jim; you are a walking time bomb for a massive zone out, and you know it. You _need_ me." 

"No, Sandburg--you need to stay here and take your damn tests!" Seeing the stubbornness in every taut line of the compact body facing him, Ellison bit out, "I said no, Sandburg, and I mean it. Now, will you please just go retrieve that damn Manfred file from the computer so I can sign it and get out of here!" 

Spine stiffened in outrage, face flushed, and eyes blazing with anger, Sandburg stalked past Ellison. Throwing open the office door, he vanished into the bullpen, slamming the glass door behind him. 

Giving a long, weary sigh, Ellison sank down onto a chair, digging the heels of both hands into his burning eyes. "Go ahead and say it, Simon." He dropped his hands, looking up at his friend and boss out of reddened eyes. "You think I was too hard on him." 

"Yeah, I do," said Banks neutrally. He poured out a mug of coffee and handed it to the other man. "He only wanted to help. To be there for you." 

"God, Simon, do you think I don't know that?" shot back Ellison. "But these tests--they're just too important for Sandburg to blow off." The tired voice trailed away as the cop sipped at the bitter liquid. 

"Why do I sense that's not the whole reason?" commented Simon. 

Ellison didn't bother to deny it. "I know the terrain up there. It's rocky and the soil is crumbly and unstable at the best of times, and it's not been the best of times...it hasn't stopped raining in over a week. You know how much Blair hates being cold and wet. It'll be just his luck that he'll trip over a rock and break his neck or something, or the ground will give way and he'll fall into the river, or he'll get soaked and end up with pneumonia as a souvenir. I couldn't handle that, Simon; not now." Ellison's voice shook a bit before he could regain control. He gave a weak chuckle. "In fact, I think I could pretty much guarantee that I would majorly lose it if he gets so much as a paper cut at this time." Looking up pleadingly, he went on, "Blair's all the family I've got left, Simon. I can't--I won't--risk him." 

Throat tightening at the haunted look in the other man's eyes, Banks nodded. "I understand, Jim; I really do. But," he pointed out gruffly, "don't you think Blair's the one who deserves to hear these reasons? Don't let him think he's just in the way--that isn't fair to either of you." 

A faint grin lit the tired face. "Yes, sir. I hear and obey." Standing, he sat his coffee mug down on Banks' desk and left. 

Unabashedly watching through the open blinds, Banks saw Ellison hesitantly approach his partner at the detective's desk. Not being a sentinel, he was unable to hear the conversation, but he observed Sandburg nod once, then get up to follow his partner out of the bullpen, anger still clearly evident in his posture and gait. The phone on his desk rang at that time and he answered it with a sigh. 

Finally convincing the city councilman on the other end of the line that the toilet-papering of his favorite aspen did not constitute a Major Crime, Banks hung up as the door to his office opened. He took the file Sandburg handed him, but did not open it immediately. "The Manfred file?" he questioned. At the younger man's nod, he offered, "Jim's gone, then?" 

"Yeah, just now." Blair nodded again, then gave a half-grin. "You can quit looking so apprehensive, Simon. We had a nice, long talk in the break room." 

"Good." Tension melting noticeably, Banks fixed shrewd eyes on the anthropologist. "What did you do--make him promise not to use his senses since you won't be there?" 

"Know us too well, don't you?" quipped Sandburg, then he sobered. "He apologized, said he really wanted me with him, but that he couldn't be selfish like that, not at mid-terms. I still think I should've gone with him, Simon. Senses or no, Jim shouldn't be alone right now. Not when he's just lost the last family he's ever had. I mean, losing Stephen is bad enough, but he just doted on little Jenny..." Voice wobbling, Blair swallowed audibly. "You know what I mean." 

'Lost the last of his family... Damn it, Ellison, I thought you were going to tell this kid how you feel!' Inwardly cursing, Simon, nonetheless, said only, "Yeah, I do." Banks gave him a sapient look. "And I know he wasn't the only one who spoiled that little girl." 

When Sandburg just shrugged, Banks stated, "You know Joel or one of the others would be happy to stay at the loft with you while Jim's gone. Just in case you need somebody." 

Blair shook his head. "Thanks, but it's okay, Simon. I'm just going to be busy with taking tests and giving them this week. No need to bother anyone." Valiantly attempting to shake off the soul-deep malaise which had settled on him like a shroud, he gave a pale shadow of his usual megawatt grin. "I noticed you didn't volunteer to come over, Simon. Captain, sir." 

"Sorry to disappoint you, Sandburg, but I'm already booked," answered Banks, reaching for his coat. 

"Oh. Daryl coming over?" 

"No." Shooing the grad student out in front of him, Banks closed his office door once they were through. Stopping by Ellison's desk long enough for Sandburg to grab his backpack, he said briskly, "I'm going to be out of town for a few days. I'm taking part in a search and rescue up near Alnisha Point." 

Hiding his grin, Banks reveled in the stunned silence which lasted all the way down to the parking garage. He had unlocked his car door, and was about to slide into the driver's seat when a hand on his arm made him pause. "Yeah, Sandburg?" 

"Thanks, Simon. I mean it." 

"No problem, kid." Giving a small smile at the earnest eyes staring up at him, Banks added, "I'll watch out for him, Sandburg. I promise." 

"See that you do." 

Getting into his car, Simon didn't make the mistake of taking the admonition lightly. 

* * *

Concluded in Chapter Two 


	2. Chapter 2

Part two

Desultorily flipping his book shut, Sandburg gave up the pretense of reading. Instead, he shifted on the couch until he could gaze out the balcony at the pouring rain, thoughts drifting and melancholic. It was late afternoon, and he hadn't eaten anything since forcing down a bagel early that morning, but he wasn't hungry. Besides, fixing a meal when it was only him eating just didn't seem worth the effort.

In the three days Ellison had been gone, the cop had phoned twice. Once, late Wednesday evening, just to let Sandburg know he'd gotten there safely and that he would be joining in the search in the morning. Then, again, yesterday afternoon, to tell his partner that Search and Rescue were thinking of calling the effort off. After three full days of looking, there was still no sign of Stephen's body. According to Jim, the local experts weren't all that surprised at their failure; it seemed the Saber River claimed several fishermen and hikers yearly. Most bodies were never recovered due to the dangerous current and wicked rapids.

Ellison had sounded exhausted, and Sandburg ached at the underlying current of grief and anger in the roughened voice. He wasn't ready to call the search off but then, as Blair well knew, Jim would never be ready to end it--not until he had accomplished his objective and found his brother's body. Toward the end of the conversation, Jim had hesitantly asked if Blair would mind contacting the funeral home to begin arranging services for Katherine and Jenny. Katherine had been an only child and her parents were long dead. Overwhelmed by the trust Jim was expressing in him, and gratified that he could help his friend in this time of need, Blair had instantly agreed. Unconsciously sighing in relief, Ellison had told Blair which mortuary to contact, and that the sheriff's office would be releasing both bodies Saturday morning.

After choking down his bagel that morning, Blair had called the designated number and made preliminary plans. The soft-voice woman on the other end of the line had informed him that Katherine and her daughter had already arrived, and that Mr. Ellison had left word that the staff was to follow Mr. Sandburg's instructions as to the arrangements. When Blair had made tentative noises about seeing Katherine and Jenny, the professional voice had faltered for an instant. Of course, it was up to Mr. Sandburg and Mr. Ellison, she acknowledged, but perhaps they might consider holding a closed-casket funeral for both mother and daughter. It might be easier on their loved ones that way. Swallowing frantically, Blair had managed not to disgrace himself and ended the phone call before dashing madly to the bathroom to lose his meager breakfast.

A sudden noise at the door startled him, and he whirled around. 'It's only Jim', he scolded himself dizzily. 'Who the hell else would have a key to the door?'

"Chief? What are you doing sitting around with the lights off?"

"Huh?" Looking around, Sandburg, saw how dark it had gotten in the apartment. "Sorry, man," he said, reaching for the light on the end table and turning it on. The small light barely made a dent in the rain-caused gloom. "Guess I was too busy wool-gathering and didn't notice how late it was getting. What time is it, anyway?"

"Nearly eight." Turning around from hanging up his jacket, Ellison noted that Blair was in the kitchen, pulling a beer our of the refrigerator. "Thanks." He accepted the open bottle and took a long swallow.

"Sit down, man; you're wiped. Are you hungry? I can whip up something to eat."

Shaking his head, Ellison sank down onto the couch, putting the beer down on the coffee table. "Thanks, Chief, but I'm not hungry. You go ahead if you want." Leaning his head back against the top of the couch, he ran a weary hand over his face. "God, I'm tired."

'No shit, Sherlock', thought Blair critically, standing over his friend. Ellison looked as though he'd aged ten years in the last week; face gray with fatigue, harsh lines had been carved deep into his skin around the mouth and eyes. One large hand was resting on the arm of the couch, the other lay loose on his jeans-clad knee; both were trembling almost imperceptibly. Desperately wishing he could 'kiss and make it better', Sandburg dropped down onto the couch, shoulder and thigh pressed against the larger man's. He was rewarded with a faint grin lighting the worn face, and a lessening of the shaking running through the muscular body.

Silently, Blair just sat there, content. If this was what Jim needed from him now, then this is what he would do. All night, if necessary; the cop deserved no less. Pushing aside his own grief and pain, he concentrated on sending comforting energy toward his partner.

"I had to identify them, y'know." Ellison's deep voice was quiet, almost deferential, as though he was speaking in a confessional.

Swallowing against the sudden tightness of his throat, Blair reached out, covering the hand resting on Jim's leg with one of his own. Instantly, Ellison threaded their fingers together, hanging on tightly.

"Simon was with me; I wasn't alone," he explained, answering Blair's unspoken question.

Mind racing, Blair tried to prepare himself. "I know," he acknowledged quietly, vaguely surprised at how steady his voice was. He knew there was more--that Jim needed to say more. "Go on," he urged gently, giving both permission and strength to face the oncoming horror.

A shaky breath, then Ellison continued, hand tightening around Sandburg's. "Katherine's whole face had been smashed in; I had to identify her by that old scar on her arm from when she'd broken it." He swallowed audibly, once, twice, and incredibly, tightened his grip on Blair even more. "Jenny... They had that baby just lying there, on that damn cold table. T-The left side of her skull was gone. You could see her brain."

What happened next was so instinctive, Sandburg was scarcely aware of what he was doing. He tore his hand free and, reaching out, grabbed his partner by both broad shoulders, pulling him into a fierce, protective embrace. Wrapping both arms around the trembling man, he gently lowered the proud head onto his shoulder. "Oh, Jim...I'm sorry," he whispered shakily, feeling the harsh, uneven breaths against his neck. "I'm so sorry. Oh, babe, I'm sorry."

Fingers clenched white-knuckled into the back of Sandburg's shirt, Jim kept his face hidden in its sanctuary as he went on, "I looked for him, Chief; I really did. But I couldn't find him."

"I know, Jim, I know," soothed Blair, running a tender hand over the short, soft brown hair. He fought the rising tears, struggling to keep his voice even. "You did your best; no one could have done any better. You know that." He began a gentle, comforting rocking.

"It was so cold, and it never stopped raining--not once."

Laying his head against his partner's, Blair just continued rocking.

"Simon was there, every step of the way...I don't know what I would have done without him, but..."

"But what, Jim?" Blair asked softly.

In some distant, dim corner of his mind, Ellison was shocked and horrified at his loss of control, but he couldn't seem to make himself care about it overmuch. Right now, Blair was the only solid, secure thing in his shattered, kaleidoscopic world and he just couldn't seem to force himself to let go of his anchor. He knew Blair would never, of his own volition, let go and that's why it seemed like such a betrayal of his Guide to say, "I'm sorry for being so selfish, Chief."

"Selfish?" Sandburg frowned slightly, trying to grasp the other man's meaning. "What do you think you've been selfish about?"

"The whole time I was up there looking... Hell, even when I was at the morgue..." Ellison stumbled to a halt, then went on determinedly, "I just kept thinking, that it wouldn't be so bad, if only you were there with me."

"Jim," mumbled Blair thickly, the long-threatening tears starting to spill over. He clutched the other man to him tighter and, shifting to lay against the other arm of the couch, he brought his partner with him. Cuddling the strong body against himself, he murmured over and over, "I'm here, Jim. I'm here."

* * *

Ambling into the bullpen after lunch Monday afternoon, Blair glanced up when he heard his name called. "Yeah, Simon?"

"Where's your partner?" Banks was standing in the doorway of his office. To Sandburg's relief, the larger man didn't seem unusually upset or tense.

"He stopped off in Forensics; Serena said she had something for him on that blood sample from the Hillman murders."

"Well, when he gets here, send him in." Banks turned and re-entered his office.

Shrugging, Sandburg plopped down into his partner's chair and returned to the case report he'd been working on before lunch. He had just finished when he felt a large hand swat the back of his head. "Move it, Junior."

"Ouch," he complained automatically, sliding out of the detective's chair. "Sign here, man." He pointed to the bottom of the last page of the file.

"Falling down on the job, Sandburg? You usually sign these for me," quipped Ellison, signing where he was told.

"Well, I just finished this one. I figure you can handle the strain and sign it yourself." Patiently waiting for Ellison to add his signature, Sandburg then grabbed the file and shoved it into its proper folder. "Here, a present for Simon," he added, handing it back to his partner, "and he wants to see you, by the way."

"What about?"

Blair shrugged. "Don't know, man. He didn't say, just that he wanted to see you when you got back from Forensics."

Ellison considered for a few moments, face screwed up in thought. "Well, whatever," he muttered eventually, giving a shrug of his own. "C'mon, then, let's go."

" _Let's_ , kemo sabe? I don't think so," protested Blair, caught in the act of pulling a textbook out of his backpack. "Simon didn't say a word about the both of us; he said he wanted you. Period."

Ignoring him with the ease of long practice, Ellison reached out and grabbed the sleeve of Sandburg's flannel shirt. "A good partner always watches out for the other guy, Chief." He gave the shirt in his hand a firm tug, pulling the younger man along.

"You just want me there as a diversion in case Simon starts yelling," grumbled Sandburg knowingly. "What have you done now, Jim?"

"Not a thing," Ellison defended himself. "You're just getting paranoid in your old age, Chief." Upon that statement, he knocked once on Banks' office door and stuck his head in. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yeah, come on in, Jim." As Ellison opened the door wider, Banks went on, "And, no, you're not in trouble, so you can let go of the kid now and he can walk in here on his own."

Shaking his head over the sheepish look on his best detective's face, Banks' grin grew wider when Sandburg glared at him, muttering under his breath. Ellison was hiding his own grin when he noticed the captain was not alone. Face straightening, he glanced over at Banks. By now, Blair had also noted the two strangers and, instinctively, drew closer to his partner.

Rising, Simon did the introductions. "Jim, this is Inspector Gary Torres," indicating the tall, broad Hispanic, "and his partner, Detective Tom Jackson," of medium height and build, with a shock of brilliant red hair.

"Gentlemen," acknowledged Ellison, shaking hands. He shot an inquiring look at Banks.

Simon took a deep breath. "They're from Major Crimes in San Francisco, Jim."

Instantly, Ellison's demeanor altered. "Have you got that bastard yet?" he demanded harshly.

A rueful smile on his face, Jackson gave a half-shrug. "Yeah, we found Lepino."

"Why do I sense a 'but' in there," came a mumble from somewhere near Banks' coat rack. Sandburg flushed as four sets of eyes zeroed in on him.

"Huh? Who the hell are you?" demanded Torres, a frown drawing heavy brows together.

That was the wrong thing to say in that office. Ire rising, Ellison had opened his mouth, but Banks beat him to it. "This is Detective Ellison's partner, Blair Sandburg."

Blair blinked, astonished as much for Simon introducing him as Jim's partner as for the unmistakable note of steel in the big man's voice. Belatedly remembering his manners, he gave a sketchy wave. "Hi."

Ellison narrowed his eyes as the visiting officers exchanged a quick glance, but all he said was, "Well? Obviously you have something, or you wouldn't have come all the way up here."

"Well, yeah," answered Torres.

An awkward silence fell over the room.

Straightening, Sandburg motioned vaguely at the bullpen and started sidling toward the door. "I'll...umm...wait at your desk, Jim."

"Stay put." Ellison's tone was pure ice, though his eyes never left the other men. The frigid blue gaze dared them to make a comment.

"Whatever, man." Blair subsided back into his corner and sealed his mouth.

Wisely, Torres decided not to pursue the point. "From the description we got, we figured we were looking for Marty Lepino. He's got a record that stretches back to age nine; didn't get what he wanted for his birthday, so he smashed his grandmother over the head with her cane and ripped off her purse. Since that auspicious beginning, he's spent at least six of the last fifteen years in one state facility or another. We checked out his girl, Lucy Davis, but she said she hadn't seen him in a couple of weeks."

Jackson took up the narrative. "We didn't believe her, of course, and started a round the clock surveillance." He gave another shrug. "Not that it made any difference in the long run."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Ellison sharply.

"Early Sunday morning, a fisherman on the Sausalito side of the bay found a body among the driftwood. And, yeah, you guessed it--it was Lepino. The back of his head had been bashed in with some blunt object. The complete autopsy report isn't done yet, but the coroner thinks it's likely he died sometime late Thursday night or early Friday morning."

"What!?" Simon stared for a moment at Jim, then back at the two detectives. "But that would have been right after Carolyn was killed!"

"I know," acknowledged Torres. "Seemed a bit too coincidental to us, too. When his girlfriend found out, she changed her mind about when she'd last seen him and told us a very interesting story."

"Lucy said," continued Jackson, "that on the afternoon before Carolyn was killed, Marty told her he was expecting a visitor. She's not exactly of the innocent breed herself and she asked him who the visitor was. He told her he didn't know, just that the guy had been referred by Tony Marcelli."

"Numbers, protection, the odd busted knee-cap...Tony Marcelli is the man to see in San Fran," put in Torres. "We think he's set up dozens of jobs like this, but there's never been any proof."

"Until now," commented Ellison grimly. "Go on."

"Marty also told her that, when this guy arrived, she was to go into the bedroom and keep the door closed. When she protested, he got a little snippy and told her that 'for the ten grand this job was gonna pay, she could damn well do as she was told.' Well, when the guy arrived, Lucy was a good little girl and vanished but she didn't like being ordered around, so she didn't play by all the rules."

"She listened?" suggested Banks.

"Yeah," said Torres, "and peeked through the keyhole. She said she couldn't see much of the guy, just part of his back and legs. He was wearing a black leather jacket and jeans. It was his voice that she really noticed, though."

"His voice?" asked Ellison, managing to unclench his jaw so he could speak.

"According to our Lucy, this mystery man had a 'stuck-up way of talking', used big words and seemed to be patronizing, acting like 'he was so much better than Marty'. Apparently, Lepino didn't care much for being treated like dirt, either, but kept his mouth shut because of the ten grand pay-off. Then this cultured fellow hands Marty a picture, and tells him that the mark would be using the Bay Park BART station to get to and from work as her car was in the shop."

"How convenient," muttered Banks, running a hand over his face. "I suppose you checked and discovered her car had been tampered with?"

"Someone poured sugar in the gas tank," reported Jackson. "Quick and easy, but Carolyn didn't know that when she had the car towed in Wednesday morning."

"The phone rang about that time, and Lucy answered it. By the time she got rid of her mother, the guy and Marty were gone. She said there was nothing abnormal in Marty leaving; it was Wednesday and Marty always went out 'with the boys' on Wednesdays. Most times, he never came home, either, so she didn't think anything was wrong until late Thursday night when he still hadn't shown up."

"But, of course, she doesn't call the cops and report him missing." stated Torres sarcastically.

"Ten thousand," growled Ellison, starting to pace. "Ten fucking thousand dollars for a person's...Carolyn's...life." He glared at Torres. "I don't suppose he had the money on him when he was found?"

The big Hispanic shook his head. "He had a lousy thirty-seven cents in small change."

"Shit!"

"Yeah," agreed Jackson. "So now you know why we're up here, Detective. We've already interviewed her friends and her family. Can you think of anyone who would want Carolyn dead?"

Ellison paused, and took several deep, calming breaths before saying tightly, "No. I mean, she could get real nasty when she lost her temper or didn't get her way--god knows, she used me as a whipping boy fairly frequently there at the end--but that's no reason to kill someone. Carolyn was always the consummate professional here at work; she was loyal to her friends, and I know she was devoted to her family. It just doesn't make any sense that someone would put out a contract on her." Jim gazed at the other cop blandly, raising an eyebrow as he asked quietly, "I suppose you've already checked on my movements on that Wednesday and Thursday?"

"Wait a minute here," interposed Sandburg, breaking his self-imposed vow of silence. "Why would you want to check on Jim?"

Torres ignored him as he met Ellison's eyes steadily. "I suppose you have someone who can verify your alibi?"

"Alibi!" Flames shooting from furious blue eyes, Sandburg planted himself in front of the bigger and bulkier Hispanic. "That is the most inherently cretinous statement I have ever heard! Jim has served both this country and this city with courage, honor and distinction. It is lower than imbecilic to even consider that he had anything to do with the murder of a perfect stranger, let alone someone he cares about. How dare you!"

"Easy there, Chief." In spite of circumstances, Ellison couldn't stop an affectionate grin from surfacing. Reaching out, he snagged his partner's belt and tugged Blair over to his side. He patted a temper-flushed cheek gently and said, "Take a couple of deep breaths, buddy, and calm down. It's all right; I'm not in any danger."

Trembling with rage, Sandburg made a concentrated effort to slow his breathing. Several minutes passed before the shakes stopped, and he nodded once, to show he was back in control. He pressed himself close to the larger man, blue eyes still shooting sparks at the out-of-town cops. Taking another deep breath, he glanced over at a sternly watching Banks and said levelly, "My apologies, Captain. I was out of line."

"Yes, you were," asserted Banks quietly. "I know how stressed you've been these past few weeks, so I'm willing to let this slide for now. You've been around cops long enough, Sandburg, to know that every possibility--no matter how remote--needs to be checked out. I expect you to remember that from now on and conduct yourself accordingly."

"Yes, sir," Blair mumbled, somewhat shame-facedly.

"Good. Now as for the other matter..." Banks looked over at Torres and Jackson. "On the days in question, Detective Ellison was in the middle of a surveillance assignment that didn't conclude until 0500 Friday morning. Two other detectives were with him in the apartment at all times. I'm sure they could verify that he never left."

"Not that the thought didn't cross my mind," muttered Ellison. "Brown snores worse than you do, Simon."

Sandburg bit back a snicker as Banks rolled his eyes in disgust and snapped, "Thank you for that charming piece of news, Ellison."

"Well and good," replied Torres. "We didn't really expect otherwise; but as you say, we had to check." A hard glint coming into the brown eyes, he shifted his gaze to the young observer. "How about you, Mr. Sandburg? Can you think of anyone who'd want to harm Ms. Plummer? You did know her, didn't you?"

Caught off guard by the question, Blair didn't notice Ellison going tense beside him. "Well, yeah, some. I mean," he explained hurriedly, "I didn't know her all that well. She left for San Francisco just a few months after I started riding along with Jim. All my contacts with her were professional ones; I didn't know her outside the station and police work."

"So, no problems, then? No difficulties?"

This time, Sandburg was aware of his Sentinel's tension. Laying a hand on a muscled forearm, he gave a small squeeze of warning. "It wasn't exactly a secret around here that Carolyn never liked me, or approved of my ride-along status." He looked Torres in the eye unflinchingly. "I knew there wasn't any way I could ever change her mind, so I just did my best to avoid any confrontational situations."

"Did you, indeed." The words were almost a sneer. "Tell me, Mr. Sandburg, where were _you_ during the time in question?"

Only Sandburg's hand on his arm stopped Ellison from decking the other detective. "Jim, no!"

"Ellison!" barked Simon, coming to his feet behind his desk. "Sit down!" When Jim glared over at him stubbornly, he repeated evenly, "I said _sit down_."

Plainly reluctant, Ellison slowly sank into one of the chairs in front of Banks' desk. Folding his arms over his chest, Banks demanded, "You want to tell me just where the hell you're going with this, Torres? There's no way Sandburg's involved in this; hell, he barely knew Carolyn!"

Jackson had just opened his mouth to defend his partner when support came from an unexpected quarter.

"It's all right, Simon," spoke up Blair from his position beside Ellison. "Remember, they have to check all possibilities." He locked gazes with Torres again. "You're going to love this. I was in San Francisco at an anthropology seminar; been there for ten days by that time. I didn't get back into Cascade until the Friday afternoon." Though a little pale, Sandburg's voice was confident. "Wednesday and Thursday afternoons, I was in meetings; they didn't get over until 5:00pm. Thursday evening, a group of professors and myself left about 6:00pm to go out for drinks. I wasn't too enthused about the place they picked, so I only stayed for one drink. There wasn't an available cab when I left, so I walked for some time before finding one. I got back to the hotel around 9:00pm. I went straight up to my room."

Temper hanging by a very fine thread, Ellison snarled, "Just why the hell would Sandburg want Carolyn dead?"

"Did you know you are your ex-wife's beneficiary, Detective?" asked Jackson, apparently apropos of nothing.

"No."

"You are; she apparently never changed the policy after the divorce. Once this case is solved, you stand to inherit $200,000 dollars. A very tidy sum, don't you think?"

"Get to the point," snapped Jim. 'Oh, god...more money.' His mind reeled. 'Why is everyone always leaving me money? Do they honestly think that makes up for everything?' He again felt Blair's hand on his arm, and he relaxed slightly, taking deep breaths.

"The point, Detective, is that we hear you're close to Mr. Sandburg; _very_ close. Not only do you permit him to ride along on all your cases, you're the one who asked permission for it in the first place. You call him your partner, even though he's not a cop and when he suddenly needs a place to stay, you let him move in with you for a week. A week that was over--what, three years ago, Detective? And he's still living in your apartment? Just how long does it take to write a dissertation, anyway?"

Ellison could feel the slight tremble in the hand resting on his arm, could feel the protective rage boiling inside of him. "Say what you mean," he ground out.

"I thought it would've been obvious. You're such good friends, I'm sure you help him out from time to time. Financially, I mean." Jackson gave a patently insincere smile. "That's a lot of money, isn't it, Mr. Sandburg? Particularly for a perpetually broke grad student. And you being such good buddies with Ellison, well, you know all you would have to do is ask."

"That's so not true." Sandburg's face was pale with both anger and fear; in the end, anger won. "Number one, I did not know Jim was Carolyn's beneficiary; if Jim didn't know it, how the hell was I going to find out? And another thing, you misanthropic, inbred, mouth-breathing moron--I would never ask him for any of that money...and he knows it. I've been called a lot of things in my time; this is the first time I've been labeled a gold-digger." Wheeling suddenly, he stalked over to the door and yanked it open. "I need some fresh air. The shit in here is getting too thick." He slammed the door behind him.

'That's the second time in a week he's marched out of here in a huff', Banks thought dazedly. He was just catching his mental breath when a low growl made him whirl. "Oh, shit," he mumbled, pulling himself together fast. "Jim, no!"

White with absolute rage, Ellison rose slowly from the chair. Giving no indication he had heard his captain, he advanced on the visiting cops. For their part, Torres and Jackson seemed mesmerized by the sheer fury they had provoked. Fear and shock written large on their faces, they both stumbled back a few steps.

Ellison gave no sign of noticing.

Banks knew he had to get control of this situation...and now. "Ellison," he snapped coldly, never raising his voice. "That's enough!" Jim paused in his stalking. "You heard me," repeated Simon levelly. "Don't do anything the kid's going to regret." He knew the reference to his Guide would reach the Sentinel better than anything else.

For an eternity, the strained tableau held. Then, Ellison took a step backwards, then another. Banks released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and startled at the soft, frigid voice.

"Listen up, you fuckers, because I'm only going to say this once." Ellison's tone and face were deadly. "Despite what the all-mighty Plummer family may have told you, Blair is not a parasite who sponges off me. He's a kind, gentle, generous man who puts up with a lot of bullshit, from me and this job. The only time he'll take any money from me is when I practically beat him into it; usually he stretches the pittance that's left over from his grants until you can see daylight through it.

"You want to know what Blair thinks about money? Chew on this. Two weeks ago, my father died and left me two and a quarter million dollars." It was doubtful Jim even heard Banks' gasp at this news. "I told Blair he could have it. Do you know what he did with it? Huh? He created two scholarship programs at Rainier--one in anthropology in my dad's name; the second in forensic sciences in Carolyn's name. He told me he did it so that a small piece of them would live on.

"So now, you get the hell out of here and go tell Mr. Paul-God-himself-Plummer what I just told you. You also tell him, that if I ever hear of him or any member of his pathetic family slandering Blair again, I'll have him in court so fast, he won't know what hit him.

"Get the fuck out of here."

* * *

Throwing the report he'd been reviewing aside, Simon rubbed his tired eyes and glanced down at his watch. Four-thirty; he'd been stuck with this paperwork for over three hours, but at least he'd be going home with a clean desk for a change. Stretching his arms, he looked out through the blinds into the bullpen. Sighing, he wondered if enough time had elapsed for Ellison and Sandburg to have calmed down. While his office had been the scene of many a messy confrontation, for a time there, he'd been sure a double homicide was about to occur.

Shaking his head, Banks sighed again. Two and a quarter million dollars. He still had a hard time wrapping his mind around that bit of information. So what does Ellison do with this unexpected windfall? He gives it to the kid, of course. Banks grinned. Who then proceeds to give it away as only Sandburg can. 'That boy just has no concept of the value of money. Of course, neither does Jim.'

He got up and went to the door of his office, frowning a little when he noticed that Ellison's desk didn't have its usual flannel-covered, curly-headed decoration. The detective was just hanging up the phone when Banks reached his desk. "Hey, Jim."

"Simon." Ellison gave a tired sigh and leaned back in his chair. "That was Dave Roberts of the Alnisha Search and Rescue."

"Did they..." Banks' voice trailed off.

"No. Not yet."

Banks gave his friend a close look. Ellison was almost ashen with fatigue; he looked as if he'd lost weight, also. "You look like hell, Jim," he said bluntly. "You been doing any eating or sleeping?"

"Are you kidding?" Jim gave a short laugh. "Sandburg hasn't stopped shoving food at me since Saturday. He even volunteered to treat me to Wonderburger."

"My god."

"Yeah." Ellison shot a quick look up at his captain, then stared down at his hands lying on his desk blotter. "It's just a little rough right now, Simon. You know that."

"Yeah, I do." Banks regarded him gravely. "I also think you should listen to Sandburg. Letting yourself get run down isn't going to change a thing."

"I know that." Ellison ran a hand over his face. "It's just that, on top of everything else, I've been a bit worried about Sandburg, too."

Banks parked a hip on the edge of the cop's desk. "I wondered if you'd noticed the kid was a bit droopy around the edges."

"I'd noticed. Damn it, Simon, Blair spends so much time and energy running around, looking after me, that he completely forgets to take care of himself. I've tried and tried, but I can't seem to break him of that habit." A hint of anger darkened his eyes. "Those two screw-ups from San Francisco didn't help matters, either."

"No, they didn't," conceded Banks. "Though I have to admit, Sandburg's reaction took me by surprise."

"For heaven's sake, Simon, Blair had a right to get angry. They were damn near accusing him of murder!"

"That's not what I meant. I'm also not talking about how he hit the roof when it seemed as though they were accusing you." Simon gave a disgusted snort. "Between the two of you, I don't know who is more protective of whom."

Ellison had the grace to grin sheepishly. "What are you talking about then?"

"I'm talking about how he reacted when Torres and Jackson started on him. After three years of riding along with you, he knows how weak his kind of alibi is; how easy it is to break it. Yet, he didn't fluster, didn't back down. Yeah, he was scared; but he was more angry than scared. Three years ago, if someone had accused him like that, I bet he would have had a full scale panic attack. He did good, Jim."

"Yeah, he did, didn't he?" Jim gave a smug smile. "Our boy is growing up, Dad."

Rolling his eyes at that sally, Banks slapped him on the shoulder. "Where _is_ your sidekick, by the way?"

"I wouldn't let Sandburg hear you call him that, sir. He hates that word." At Banks' unconcerned smile, Ellison went on, "When I left your office earlier, Connor told me that Blair had told her he had some things he needed to do at Rainier."

Banks frowned again. "Isn't it spring break this week? What could he have to do over there?"

"Nothing." Ellison's grin grew wider at Banks' confusion. "That's just Blair's way of working off his aggression. I'll bet you anything, he's over there in that dingy little basement office of his, scrounging around dusty artifacts and books. After a couple of hours of messing around, forcing all their little secrets out of them, Blair will be back on an even keel. It's the most effective anger management strategy I've ever seen."

"Well, whatever works," shrugged Banks, standing.

A sudden drop in the noise level had both men looking up just as Joel Taggart came to a skidding stop beside them. There was a look of palpable anxiety on the placid face. Although he was aware that everyone was watching him with barely concealed curiosity, the big man ignored them.

"I was just down in Dispatch," he said abruptly. "A call came in on 911--there's been an explosion over at Rainier. The whole building's on fire." Anxious brown eyes took in Ellison's suddenly pale face. "Jim...it's Hargrove Hall."

* * *

It was a scene of total pandemonium. The strobing lights of fire, police, and rescue vehicles highlighted the frantic activity. Heavy truck engines growled, men pointed and shouted, water gushed out of dozens of high-pressure hoses as the firefighters continued their deadly dance with their eternal foe. Over it all, though, was the crackle and snap of the fire as flames consumed the old building. A yelled warning, and everyone watched helplessly as the upper floors came crashing down upon their lower brethren with a thunderous roar.

This was the horrific scene which greeted the members of Major Crimes as two cars screeched to a halt beside a massive fire engine. Half-falling from Banks' Taurus before it had come to a complete stop, Ellison took only a few steps before coming to a jolting halt. As though pre-arranged, Banks and Taggart took station to either side of him, while Brown, Rafe and Connor disappeared into the melee to glean what information they could.

"Oh, my god." Unaware that he had spoken out loud, Ellison stared, transfixed, at the sheet-shrouded figure being gently zipped into a black body bag from the coroner's office. The blood fled from his head, and Ellison staggered, almost going to his knees. The over-powering roar of the flames, the painfully bright lights from the emergency vehicles, the rank odor of burning, all conspired to overwhelm the exhausted Sentinel. He fumbled for his mental dials, fighting not to lose control over his wayward senses, but he felt himself slipping steadily. An unknown length of time passed before he became aware that Simon's face was thrust close to his, Bank's hand clenched painfully into his upper arms.

Seeing that he finally had Ellison's attention, Banks enunciated clearly, "That's not Blair, Jim. It's not. Look at the hand; that hand is way too big for Blair's."

Taking a shuddering breath, Ellison nodded once, twice. Unable to concentrate well enough to search for his Guide's heart beat in the chaos around them, he resorted to a time-proven method. "Blair!" he shouted.

Ignoring Joel and Simon as they tried to placate him, he yelled again. "Blair!"

"Jim, don't..." began Simon. Once more he was ignored.

"Blair!" It was a full-throated bellow.

"Jim!"

Whipping to the left so fast he stumbled slightly, Ellison unerringly spotted his partner standing with a group of coughing, soot-covered students. Moving before he was aware of it, he grabbed the man who was dashing headlong toward him, pulling Sandburg into a savage, possessive embrace. He felt Blair's arms wrap around his waist, holding onto his jacket tightly.

"Jesus, Chief." His voice broken and rough, Ellison also didn't give a damn at that moment. "You've got to stop doing this kind of shit. I'm not as young as I used to be." He buried his nose in smoke-drenched curls.

A choke of laughter came from near his shoulder where Sandburg had buried his head. "Neither am I, man. I think this escapade took twenty years off me." The grad student's voice was no steadier than Ellison's, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of amusement present. Lifting his head, Blair gave a somewhat shaky grin. "Look, even my hair is turning gray."

Laughing, Ellison just shook his head, shaking hands coming up to help remove some of the larger pieces of ash from the rich umber hair,

"God, Sandburg, you've got more lives than a damn cat," commented Banks gruffly, judging the partners had had enough time to themselves for now. "What the hell happened here?"

Finally tearing his gaze away from Ellison's smiling face, Blair noticed the other two men. "Oh, hey, Simon, Joel." Reluctantly releasing his hold on his partner's jacket, he had only taken one step back before a large hand clamped onto his shoulder, firmly anchoring him at Ellison's side. Flashing a knowing, sideways grin at him, Blair went on, "As for what happened, got me, man. One minute, I was walking down the hall, heading for the stairs and home; the next, I'm picking myself up off the floor. The whole basement was already filled with smoke and there were flames everywhere. Hi, guys." This last as the rest of the Major Crimes team joined the group.

"Go on," prompted the captain impatiently.

Ellison frowned, but held his tongue. He could feel the minute shakes running through his partner's body, hear the harsh wheezing from smoke-charred lungs, but he knew Sandburg would not thank him if he intervened. As much as he would coddle Ellison at the smallest hint of an indisposition, Blair hated to be hovered over. Thankfully, his Guide appeared to be only slightly injured--there was the smoke inhalation, and a large bruise coming up beautifully on his left cheek--so Ellison reassured his protective instincts that it was all right to let Blair explain. He tuned back into the conversation.

"Luckily," Blair was saying, "the blast, or whatever, just blew me down the hall toward the stairs. I was really worried 'cause I could see the fire was already starting to eat through the ceiling toward the main floor, and I knew Professor Dickenson was having a staff meeting today. By the time I found the stairs and got up them, the fire had already spread to some of the class rooms. When I got to Professor Dickenson's office, the fire was shooting up through the floor. The professor was..." Here Blair's voice shook a bit. "...dead; a big piece of wood had hit him on the head. That blast must've happened right underneath his office. There wasn't anything I could do, and the kids were all choking on the smoke. Toby--another TA--and I broke out the windows so we could get out. Before we could grab the professor, however, the firefighters were there and they got us all out. Everybody else is okay, thank god, just kind of shook up and smoky."

As Blair finished speaking, an excruciating flash of light shot overhead, followed immediately by a thunderous clap. Everyone flinched and looked up just as the skies tore open, soaking them in a pounding deluge. 'Shit, that hurt!' Jim thought dazedly, unable to decide whether to rub his burning eyes or his ringing ears first. He blinked the pain-tears away to find worried blue eyes fixed on him. Sandburg relaxed as Ellison gave him a small smile and a wink.

"I should think the firefighters can quit worrying now," commented Connor casually, pushing a piece of rain-soaked hair out of her face.

"Yeah," agreed Banks. He clapped his hands. "Well, people, let's get this show on the road. No reason to stand around getting more soaked. Joel, you guys head on back to the station. I'll be in as soon as I get Sandburg and Ellison home."

"Sure thing, Simon." With a wave, Taggart led his little group off toward the cars.

Frowning, Banks gave the soaked and shivering anthropologist a close scrutiny. "You need to get checked out by a doctor, Sandburg?"

"Nah, I'm fine, Simon." Catching the sceptical look, Blair insisted, "I'm fine, really. I've got a headache from all the smoke I swallowed and I'm sure I have some terrific bruises from when I hit that floor, but that's it. Ask Jim if you don't believe me."

Not surprised to find out that his partner knew he'd been checking him out with his sentinel senses, Ellison just grinned and nodded. "Yeah, he's fine. He'll be even better when he gets home and can quit looking like a drowned sheepdog." He took hold of Sandburg's arm and started leading him toward Banks' car.

"Drowned sheepdog," snorted Blair, squelching along beside him. "You're going to regret that one, man."

Unlocking the car doors, Banks hid a wince at the thought of the punishment his car seats were going to be subjected to. Sighing, he ushered the two men into the back seat, then climbed in himself and started the car.

* * *

Hours later, the rain still pounded on the roof; brilliant flashes of lightening lit up the loft bedroom through the clerestory windows. The streams of illumination highlighted the restless figure tossing in the big bed. Mumbled, agitated words filled the night air.

"No...no...Blair..." Ellison's face twisted in anguish, tears leaking between tightly closed eyelids. "Not Blair too...not Blair..." A final shout rang out. "Blair!"

Coming awake with an abrupt jerk, Jim fought to catch his breath and slow his frantic breathing. Just a nightmare, he reminded himself over and over, running a shaking hand over his sweaty face. 'It's just a nightmare; Blair is all right. He's downstairs, sleeping.'

The next second, he was proven wrong on that account as a concerned voice filtered through the darkness. "Jim?" Blair moved from the top of the stairs toward Ellison's bed. "You okay, man? I heard you calling me."

Grateful that the lack of light hid him from his partner's gaze, the detective rasped out, "Yeah, Chief; I'm fine. Sorry--didn't mean to wake you."

"Sure?" Sandburg didn't sound convinced. He moved closer, striving to pierce the gloom so he could see the other man.

"Go back to bed, Sandburg." Keeping his voice steady with an effort, Ellison went on, "You need your sleep; it's been a pretty stressful day."

Having his suspicions over the cause of Ellison's nightmare, Blair set about getting his partner to relax. "Stressful day? Man, it's been a stressful few weeks!"

"No shit," agreed Jim. He felt the bed next to his hip sink as the anthropologist sank onto the bed. "All the more reason, Chief, to go back to bed and get some more sleep." He wasn't entirely surprised, though, when his pointed suggestion was blithely ignored.

"Want to talk about it?"

Involuntarily, Ellison tensed again. "Not really." His tone was flat and final.

Again, Sandburg ignored the obvious dismissal. "It might help, you know." When the larger man remained silent and stiff, Blair continued quietly, "Was it about what happened today?" As Ellison grew more rigid, Sandburg nodded, suspicions confirmed. "Jim, there's nothing to be ashamed of; you're only human, man."

"Chief..."

Once more, he was ignored. "Hell, Jim, those idiots practically accused you of murder. Of _Carolyn_ , for god's sake! I'm not surprised you're having nightmares; I'd be more surprised if you didn't!"

Shock kept the big cop silent for a few pregnant moments. Then, shaking his head over the obtuseness of the very intelligent man sitting beside him, Ellison gave a strangled laugh. "And people call you a genius!"

"Huh?" Even without sentinel sight, Sandburg's confusion as obvious.

"God, Chief, you know as well as I do that the husband--or ex-husband, in this case--is automatically considered to be a suspect. If Torres and Jackson _hadn't_ verified my alibi, I would have been very concerned about the way they were handling the case."

"If it's not being accused of Carolyn's murder, what does have you so upset?" Blair paused for a minute, considering. When he spoke again, his voice was gentle. "Or is everything just getting on top of you a little?"

For a moment, Ellison was tempted to grasp the straw thrown him by his unsuspecting partner. Becoming aware that the younger man was shivering slightly in the cool night air, Jim held up the edge of his comforter and said, "Get in here, Chief, before you catch cold and I have to listen to you sneeze and sniffle for the next week."

Well-knowing the Sentinel could see him clearly, Blair stuck his tongue out as he swiftly climbed into the bed next to his partner. Pulling the body-warmed covers up to his neck with alacrity, Blair gave a big grin. "Thanks, man." Instantly distracted by the sleep-concentrated scent of pure Ellison, Sandburg forcibly called his lustfully wandering thoughts back to order. 'This is about Jim,' he lectured himself sternly. 'Start thinking with the head on your shoulders, Sandburg!'

Surprisingly, it was Ellison who broke the comfortable silence that had fallen between them, saying bluntly, "When I got to Rainier this afternoon, the first thing I saw was somebody being loaded into a body bag. I know it was Dickenson," he over-rode Blair's incipient interruption, "I know that _now_ ; I didn't know it _then_. I didn't know there was anyone else on campus...I thought it was you." Regarding his Guide's confoundment with a small smile, he asked, "Remember why I told you I didn't want you to come with me to look for Stephen?"

Blair strove to follow the jumbled conversation. "Yeah. You were worried that if I missed or delayed my mid-terms, the university might pull my grants and teaching fellowship."

"I was, but that wasn't the whole reason." Taking a deep breath, Ellison avoided looking at his wide-eyed partner. A confused Blair was almost irresistibly adorable and the cop wasn't all that sure of his willpower this stressful night.

"It wasn't?" Sandburg admitted to complete bewilderment.

"No. I'm sorry, Chief, but I just couldn't take the chance."

"What kind of chance, Jim?"

"God, I could just see it." Ellison gave a barking laugh. "The way my luck has been running, you go up there with me and the minute my back is turned, you'll fall into the river or trip over a rock and break something vital like your neck."

A blinding light flared on in Sandburg's brain. "Jim..." he breathed.

"Carolyn's murder hurt; hell, I'll even miss Dad. Stephen, Katherine, and little Jenny...that's going to take some getting over. But if anything happened to you..." The self-assured voice faltered. He went on in a hoarse whisper, "I couldn't handle that one, Chief. That one would send me right over the edge."

"Nothing's gonna happen to me, Jim," reassured Blair through a tight throat.

Ellison shook his head, rejecting the pat consolation. "You can't promise me that, Chief; you know you can't." He turned suddenly, spearing the hapless grad student with a desperate gaze. "I know you think I'm always a bit protective, but with everything that has happened just lately, I can't help but worry even more." Giving a sharp, barking laugh, he admitted, "Hell, you don't realize how hard I've had to fight with myself these last few days to even let you out of the loft."

Sandburg struggled to come to grips with what Ellison had--and more importantly--had _not_ said. Ruthlessly, he batted back the surging hope and forced himself to think sensibly. One of them had to, and Jim, though he would probably rather die than admit it, was not in any mental shape to do so. Even if Blair's most treasured fantasy was within reach, now was not the time to grab for it. The big cop was emotionally vulnerable due to the excessive stress of the past few weeks and Sandburg couldn't help but feel that he would be taking an unfair advantage if he pressed for more at this time.

Misinterpreting the silence, Ellison gave another short laugh. "I don't blame you for being mad, Chief. I know I would be."

"What, you'd be angry to find that someone cared about you so much that he's having nightmares about you getting hurt?" Sandburg kept his voice level and non-aggressive. "You'd be upset that this person, who has just lost his entire family in the past month, is so frantic with worry about you that he wants to lock you away from anything that could hurt you? I guess, looking at it like that; yeah, man, I'm a little ticked off."

Dumfounded, Ellison could only stare at the gentle smile curving the full mouth. "Chief? I don't think you understand..."

Turning onto his side, Blair held an arm in invitation. "C'mere, Jim." When the larger man didn't budge, he grabbed a strong forearm, pulling the cop into his embrace. He wrapped an arm around the broad chest and threw a leg over both muscular thighs. Once he had his partner firmly anchored to his side, he whispered, "I understand perfectly, Jim--everything."

Shuddering as the warmth from the breath tickling his ear arrowed straight to his groin, Ellison gave a low groan. "God, Chief..." He buried his face in the silky curls brushing his cheek. "Are you sure, Blair?"

"I'm sure, Jim; more sure of this than of anything I've ever done in my life," assured Sandburg softly. Tightening his arms around the bigger man, he went on, "This is right, Jim. This is something we've been moving toward from the day we met."

Held fast against the compact body, Ellison gave a huge sigh, relaxing against the hard warmth pressed so close to him. Nuzzling through the fragrant curls, he ventured wistfully, "Sometimes...sometimes, I wondered if I would _ever_ find this feeling."

"Me, too, Jim...me, too." One hand rubbing calming, gentle circles along a velvet flank, Blair said quietly, "But, tonight is just too fraught, man. We're both too wiped, mentally and physically."

"Yeah. Maybe." Nodding slowly, Jim reluctantly admitted the truth. The spirit might be willing, but the flesh was definitely weak; his body felt as though it had been hit by a Mack truck. Even his brain felt pulped. Raising up on one elbow, he asked anxiously, "But...soon, though, right?"

"Very soon." Blair sealed the promise with a tender, cherishing kiss on the sensuous mouth hovering so close to his. "Very soon and very long. Be prepared for an all-nighter, man."

Reassured by the lustful determination in the husky voice, Ellison chuckled. "I'll remember to take my vitamins."

"Good Sentinel." Sandburg demonstrated his approval of the statement by giving the firm butt under his right hand an approving pat.

Chuckling again, Ellison leaned over and pressed a soft kiss between the lambent eyes. "Night, Chief." Then, greatly daring, "Love you."

"Night, Jim. Love you, too."

Moments later, two bodies drifted into deep slumber, both hearts beating in tandem.

* * *

'Another day, another funeral', Blair thought wearily. As Jim maneuvered the newly repaired Ford through the crush of mid-day traffic, he leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. The sight of the small coffin resting next to Katherine's bigger one had almost sent the grad student fleeing from the mortuary. Almost. The tight grip of the large hand in his had helped keep the grieving Sandburg focused, reminded him that his partner was hurting as badly, if not more so, than he. An arm thrown around Ellison's trim waist for his own comfort as much for his partner's solace, the anthropologist had not budged form his own place at the cop's side at either the funeral home or the cemetery. There had been some stares and mutters, true; but among the contingent from the Cascade P.D.--who had arrived enmasse to show their support--no eyebrows were raised. This was very much expected and accepted behavior from both men. Indeed, comment would only have been raised if the partners _hadn't_ been drawing succor from each other.

"If you want to go home, Chief, I'll drop you off. God knows, I can clean out Stephen's office myself."

"No way, man." Blair opened his eyes, shaking his head. "I know you don't really need me, but..."

"You just want to help," finished Ellison with a small smile. Throwing a quick glance at the man sitting in the truck's passenger seat, he gave a shake of his own head. "You're wrong, you know."

"I am? About what?"

"I do need you, Chief--don't ever doubt that, okay?"

"Okay, Jim."

Registering Sandburg's beam out of the corner of his eye, Jim gave another small smile as he guided the Ford into the underground carpark for Stephen's investment bank. Swallowing a sigh, he climbed out of the truck. Hopefully this disagreeable task could be accomplished fairly quickly. Neck and shoulders tight with tension, his temples had now started to throb in time to his pulse. He really didn't know why he was here in the first place; Jim was sure he was not the person his brother had envisioned for this particular task. When he'd been approached by Stephen's boss at the funeral and asked to do so, Jim had been flabbergasted. Surely, he'd protested, that grim duty could better be accomplished by someone from the firm; after all, hadn't Stephen possessed confidential documents? Toothy smile wide, the bank president had assured Jim that all bank papers had already been removed. All that was left were Stephen's personal papers and effects. Grimacing, Jim had told the man he would attend to his brother's office after Katherine's and Jenny's funeral.

While the job had not actually taken that long, by the time the truck was pulling into its usual parking spot in front of 852 Prospect, Jim's headache had reached mammoth proportions. Without speaking, Sandburg took the box containing Stephen's things from Ellison and unobtrusively guided his hurting Sentinel upstairs to the loft. Once inside, he deposited the box on the table and, still without breaking the silence, procured a glass of water and aspirins, thrusting them at his partner. After watching Jim take the pills, he then urged the exhausted man upstairs. Eyes closed tightly against the colorful flashes of light bursting behind his eyes, Ellison stood obediently still as Blair efficiently undressed him and then eased down onto the bed. Only when he felt the comforter being pulled up to his chin, did he crack open his eyes a slit, though even that tiny bit of light seared like liquid fire into his brain.

"Shush, Jim...rest now." Bending down, Blair lightly brushed a kiss across the pain-furrowed brow. Sitting on the side of the bed, he gently rubbed both of Ellison's temples until the tense face relaxed into sleep. Rising, he pressed another kiss to the cop's temple and headed back downstairs.

At something of a loose end after changing into more comfortable clothes, Blair stood indecisively in his doorway for some time. Rare though it was, he was actually caught up on his class and lecture notes. He could always work on his dissertation, but he admitted to a distinct lack of motivation. TV was out as he didn't want to take any chances of waking his partner. 'Could always grab a book and read.' Shrugging, Blair started back into his room when his gaze fell on the box sitting on the dining table. Biting his lip for a moment, he debated with himself. Then, giving another shrug, he crossed to the table and began placing the contents of the box onto the table. The framed pictures of Katherine and Jenny, he immediately took over to the mantle and set them among the rest of the photos standing there. He was sure Jim wouldn't mind.

Returning to the table, he sank onto a chair and started sifting through the papers lying there. Spying the younger Ellison's passport, he remembered that Jim had said his brother had traveled for years due to business and, idly curious, Blair opened the passport and began leafing through it. Noticing that most of the stamps appeared to be from the far eastern countries, he started to put it aside when something on the last page caught his eye. Frowning, he scanned the page again, jaw dropping when he focused on the last date stamp. 'No way, man; I am not seeing this!'

Bounding into his room and grabbing his glasses from the top of the bed stand, he peered once again at the stamp in question. Pulling off his glasses, he stared thoughtfully into the middle distance, trying to make some sense of this anomaly. He distinctly remembered Jim telling him, the night Sandburg had returned from the seminar, that Stephen had been out of the country when their father had died and was only able to get a flight back into Cascade on the Saturday morning. So why did the U.S. Customs stamp show his date of return to be the Wednesday before that, and the arriving port as San Francisco? An uneasy, treacherous thought sprang into full being and he shook his head to dislodge it. Unbidden, the scene in Carstens' office replayed itself...Stephen's shocked look as he'd realized that Jim was not going to turn down the elder Ellison's legacy now had a sinister interpretation.

'God, Sandburg, do you realize just what you're accusing Stephen of doing? You may not have liked him all that well, but he was still Jim's brother. He's dead; let him rest in peace, for crying out loud!' Yet, another traitorous thought tiptoed in: 'Stephen's body hasn't been found. How do we know he's really dead?' Berating himself savagely for even daring to think those dark thoughts, he decided he had simply mis-read the customs stamp. After all, the year portion of the stamp was slightly blurry; he could be mistaken. Or maybe this wasn't Stephen's current passport. He sat there for some time, gazing at nothing in particular then, hating himself, he reached out and snagged the portable phone, dialing the number with angry jabs. A short time later, he disconnected and laid the phone down with a suddenly shaking hand.

His short conversation with Stephen's secretary had been exceedingly disturbing. Yes, Mr. Ellison had returned to Cascade on Saturday, but Mr. Sandburg was mistaken in believing that he had been arriving from Japan. When tentatively questioned why she was so sure of that, the woman had grown a little cool as she replied that the driver Stephen had arranged had met him at a gate inside the domestic terminal, not the international. Stunned, Blair had thanked her.

'Oh, god, what do I do now?', he wondered feverishly. 'What if I'm over-reacting? I can't take this to Jim!' Abruptly, he jumped to his feet. Passport still in hand, he snatched his jacket off the hook by the door and let himself out of the apartment.

* * *

Scowling fiercely, Simon Banks slammed his phone down. That was the second phone call this day to severely upset his equilibrium. At the soft knock on his door, he snarled, "Come in!" Upon seeing the hesitant figure sidling into the office, his quelling glared disappeared. 'Just the person I did _not_ need to see right now', he mentally sighed. "Didn't expect to see you here, today, Sandburg. Is Jim with you?"

"No. He's at home, trying to sleep off a headache." Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, Blair asked, "Umm...Simon? Could I talk with you about something?"

Brows lowering at the uncharacteristically indecisive anthropologist, Banks bit off the sharp reply hovering on his tongue. "What's wrong, Blair?" Frowning heavily as the younger man continued to run his hand nervously through his disordered curls, Banks gestured at a chair and ordered, "Sit down, Sandburg, and tell me what brought you here without Jim."

Sinking onto the edge of the chair Banks had indicated, Blair took a deep breath, shoved Stephen's passport at the other man, and plunged into a rambling, though remarkably coherent, recitation of his suspicions. When he finished, he glanced over at the captain, who sat watching him expressionlessly. "I know, Simon, I know!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet and pacing. "I know I'm blowing things all out of proportion here. So, now, I need you to logically and succinctly tell me I need my head examined."

Leaning back in his chair, the big P.D. captain studied him silently for a few moments before asking quietly, "You haven't discussed this with Jim, have you?"

"Are you nuts?" declared Sandburg indignantly. "Of course, I haven't!"

Nodding, Banks then inquired, "Just as a matter of interest, did Stephen know you're Jim's heir?"

Taken aback at the odd question, Blair stared blankly at the other man for a minute. "Uh, yeah. I mean, he was in the lawyer's office when Jim told me. Why?"

"I just got off the phone with the fire department. Their investigation into the explosion and fire at Hargrove Hall clearly indicated arson. Someone had cranked up the pressure on the boilers so they could blow. The boiler room is right next to your office. Earlier this morning, I got a strange call from Sheriff Lansing about Stephen's jeep. Seems one of his deputies was bothered by something vague so he took a closer look at the vehicle and made a most amazing discovery. That windshield was broken in, not out--the force of the blow which shattered it had come from an object outside smashing against it, rather than a body being thrown through it from the inside. After finding this, the deputy went back to that bend in the road above the river and searched the road-side. He found several large pieces of pebbled safety glass. True, all of this might mean nothing, but the sheriff though Jim and I should know he was re-opening the investigation into the cause of the accident."

Taking in the anthropologist's stupefied face, Banks said gently, "I can't entirely dismiss what you've brought me, Blair, because, unfortunately, you may be right."

Mouth opening and closing several times, Blair finally managed to get out, "B-But why? Sure, he didn't expect Jim to keep the money his dad had left him--he was too shocked to hide it well when Jim announced he would. Yeah, he knew their dad had left Jim something; he told me he had warned William that Jim would fight against getting the money. But why have Carolyn killed? He didn't even know her!"

"What if he thought she was still Jim's heir? It might only have been a calculated risk, but one he wasn't willing to take. Then, he finds out that not only is Jim going to keep the money, but that you are Jim's heir, not Carolyn. He stages his own death so he's free to move about at will. Suddenly, there's a convenient explosion in a room adjoining your office--you know you would've died if those boilers had gone off while you were still in there."

Clear thinking abilities obviously on vacation, Sandburg was slow in processing Banks' words. "A-All right. That could be true. But if he faked his own death..." His voice trailed off as a look of horror came over the pale face. "Oh, god--did Katherine and Jenny actually die in the accident? Or did he kill them, too?"

"I don't know, Sandburg. Right now, this is all just conjecture." Aching inside for the young man standing across from him and for his yet-unsuspecting best detective, Banks stated, "But I think we'd better find out pretty quickly, Blair. Because, if we're right, if Stephen is killing anyone who stands between that money and him--who would be next on his list?"

Blood drained from the already ashen face as the grad student swayed. Putting out a hand to brace himself against Banks' desk, Sandburg said hoarsely, " _Jim_. Oh, god, Jim." Suddenly, the blue eyes shot up, meeting the captain's compassionate brown ones. "No, wait a minute, Simon. Just wait a minute. Jim...Jim's not in any danger. He doesn't have that money. He gave it to me, remember, a-and I turned it into scholarships. So Stephen may have killed those other people, but he'll leave Jim alone. He doesn't have the money." Blair sounded as though he were trying to convince himself, along with the man watching him so solemnly.

Hating to burst the anthropologist's bubble, Simon asked quietly, "Does Stephen know that? Is he aware that the money is already out of Jim's control?"

"He was there when Jim told me I could have it! He..." Sandburg stopped, gulping down an audible breath. When his voice came again, it was so low that Banks had to struggle to hear it. "No, there's no way he could know the scholarships have already been set up. Jim only signed the papers yesterday afternoon while we went out for lunch." He sank back onto the chair, running a trembling hand through tousled curls. "God, Simon, what are we going to do? You know Jim won't believe us; he'll just say there's no hard facts to back up our suspicions.""

"Then, we'll get him those hard facts." Steadily meeting the younger man's haunted gaze, Banks hoped he projected more confidence than he felt. "So let's get busy and find out why Stephen wants that money so badly."

* * *

Blinking groggily, Jim tried to ascertain what had awakened him. Casting out his hearing, he heard only silence in the loft. Bemused as to why Sandburg had felt the need to leave--and a little uneasy at his absence--Jim was climbing out of bed when another knock sounded. Quickly grabbing a pair of jeans and pulling them on, he started down the stairs at a trot. Another knock came as he threw the deadbolt. "Yeah, yeah. Who the he..." The rest of the complaint strangled and died.

For the first time in his life, Ellison actually doubted, for several long minutes, just what his eyes were telling him. Then, arms shooting out, he grabbed both shoulders of the grinning man standing in the hallway. " _Stephen_! My god, Stevie, is it really you?" A blinding smile lit the chiseled face.

"Yeah, Big Brother--it's me." A small smile played along the younger Ellison's lips.

Bodily dragging the other man into the loft, Jim barely took the time to shut the door before demanding, "What the hell happened? We searched for days!"

Laughing, Stephen half-turned away as he replied, "Sorry about that, Jim." Abruptly, he whipped back around, light glinting off the deadly object in his hand.

Breath freezing in his lungs, Jim stared at the large handgun aimed at him. "Stephen. what's going on here?"

"What's going on is that I'm finally clearing up the last few loose ends." Stephen gestured with the gun, indicating he wanted his brother to sit down in the yellow chair. "Do you have any idea just how _complicated_ things have gotten because of you?"

"Glad I could help," shot back the cop. Muscles tensed and coiled, he glared at the other man as he inquired coldly, "Mind telling me what I've done?"

"Not at all." Remaining several feet away from the seated detective, Stephen answered, "Your biggest mistake was in accepting that legacy. I don't know how many times I told Dad you'd rather eat dirt than take a penny from him, but he insisted. Then, look what you did! Since you had to be so greedy, Sandburg's death is on _your_ head, not mine. He wasn't part of the original plan."

"Leave Sandburg out of this," growled Jim, half-rising at this threat to his Guide.

"Easy, Jimmy...sit back down," warned Stephen, punctuating the statement with a wave of the Browning Hi-Power. Once the Sentinel had subsided back into the chair, the younger man grinned and taunted, "You're the one who dragged the freak into it. If you'd hadn't taken the money, Carolyn would have been the only one to get hurt."

Jaw tightening until the muscles stood out in stark relief, Jim remained silent. Frigidly glinting ice-blue eyes were the only sign of his internal rage.

"Shall I tell you a story, Jimmy, while we're waiting for your little buddy to get home? You used to tell me one every night before we went to bed; it's past time I returned the favor," mocked Stephen. Shrugging again at his brother's continued silence, he sank down onto the couch, prudently keeping the gun pointed directly at the big cop's torso.

"I needed that money, Jim--I really did. The stock market hasn't exactly been good to me this year and, what with keeping up the necessary standard of living, I had to borrow the money--unofficially, of course--from the bank. Then, just before I had to leave for Japan, I get word of an surprise audit next month. I was at my wit's end when Dad so obligingly dies. I knew how much he was worth, and I was so sure you would turn down your half. I just collect the four and a half million, ease what I need back into the bank, and no one would be the wiser.

"Then, I got to thinking...what if you _didn't_ turn down the money? God knows, you and the old man were getting along fairly well there toward the end. So it was obvious you had to die, but I knew just your death wouldn't solve anything. Your brother would only inherit if you had no other legitimate heirs. You've never re-married and have no steady or live-in girlfriends. One thing about being a high-class businessman, you tend to make some very interesting contacts. Carolyn was actually quite easy to arrange, and that fool who did it was disgustingly simple to remove. Of course, it turned out I was wrong about her, but it was a risk I had to take."

For the first time, a hint of anger entered the younger Ellison's voice. "Then, I get back to Cascade and not only do I find that I now have to kill Sandburg because of you, Katherine decides to get nasty."

That statement jolted Jim into speech. "Katherine?" A wave of nausea abruptly surged, and he swallowed hard. "Oh, god, Stephen, you didn't. Tell me you didn't kill Katherine and that baby."

"She would've taken me to the cleaners, for god's sake!" shouted Stephen. "That damn bitch--simply because she found out about Marsha and Debbie, she was going to divorce me and splash the Ellison name through the mud. As for Jenny, I'll bet you anything you like that the little whiner wasn't even mine. Katherine was pathetic--I told her I wanted to make it up to her and begged for a second chance. By the time we got to Alnisha Point, both of them were asleep. All it took was a few bashes with a tire iron over the head, then I broke the Jeep's windshield to make it look like I went into the river, and pushed it over the cliff.

"Since everyone thought I had died, no one would be suspicious when you and Sandburg turned up dead. Then, I could make a dramatic entrance, injured and exhausted, having had to hike out of the wilderness after fighting to get out of that river. I collect the money and everyone's sympathy for the loss of my entire family. Once I take care of you and Sandburg, I intend to do just that."

"You won't get away with this, Stephen," Jim ground out. "You know you won't."

"What? Cop's places are immune from home invasions?" Stephen gave another grin. "That's what it's going to look like, you know. Some guy breaks in here, the kid surprises him and is shot for his trouble. When you come running to the rescue, you're also killed."

Jim gritted his teeth, fighting the almost overwhelming urge to jump the sneering man sitting on the couch. But his brother was no fool and was sitting too far away; Jim would be dead before he covered half the ground.

"You have to admit," jibed Stephen, "that Sandburg just might prefer a bullet to the head, rather than burning to death. But that was just a spur of the moment improvisation."

Sky blue eyes narrowed; Jim's rage was an almost tangible entity in the room.

"Well, enough of these bedtime stories," decided Stephen, getting to his feet. He gestured his brother toward the loft stairs. "Let's get upstairs. Sandburg could get home anytime, and we don't want to scare him prematurely, do we?"

Jim didn't move.

"Upstairs, Jimmy. Now." Stephen's voice was cold. "Or I'll shoot you here, and just hide the body. The kid will still get it when he walks in the door."

Rising stiffly, Jim moved toward the stairs. Slowly, he climbed to the loft bedroom, struggling to keep his searing fury under control. His senses were cutting in and out, and with the whirlwind of emotions buffeting him, he couldn't seem to find the dials. He reached the top of the stairs and paused, muscles bunching to attack,

"Uh, uh, Jimmy." Stephen's voice seemed to come from miles away. "None of that, now. Step back into the room, away from the edge."

Jim had taken two steps toward his bed when the sound of the downstairs lock being turned sounded like cannon fire going off next to his ear. Gasping against the agony, he sank to his knees, both hands coming up to clutch at his head. Not having heard anything, and believing his brother was trying to catch him off guard, Stephen swung the gun down to press the barrel against Jim's head.

That was the horrifying tableau that met Blair's and Simon's eyes as they walked in the door.

Sandburg's vision tunneled. He didn't see Banks making a frantic lunge for his gun; all he saw was the man he loved on his knees with a gun against his head. Instinctively, he reached out; grabbing the cool, hard object resting on the table by the door, he threw it with an accuracy born of terrified desperation.

Stephen, catching the movement out of the corner of his eye, whirled to face this new threat. As he did so, his foot slipped off the top step and he staggered backward, just as the missile struck him high on the forehead. In bizarre slow motion, his arms pin-wheeled as he hopelessly fought to regain his balance. Then, gravity proving inexorable, he slowly tumbled down the steep stairs. With a final, sickening crunch he came to an awkward rest, a sprawled, broken figure at the bottom of the steps.

"Jim!" Leaping over the limp form as if it wasn't even there, Blair dashed madly up the stairs. Reaching his partner's side, he dropped to his knees, gathering the larger man fiercely against him. "It's all right, Jim; I've got you now," he breathed unsteadily into the nearest ear. "It's gonna be all right. I'm here, I'm here."

Drowning under the onslaught of conflicting emotions and sensory overload, Jim clutched at the familiar warmth. Burying his face in mahogany curls, he let the smell, feel, and sound of his Guide flow into his battered soul.

An unknown length of time later, he became aware that someone else was speaking to him. Lifting his head from its hiding place, he saw that Banks had bent down next to him and was watching him with concern. "What did you say, Simon?" he rasped out, vaguely surprised he could make any coherent conversation.

"I said, do you need the EMT's, Jim?" The deep voice was worried.

"Nah." Ellison shook his head. "I'm all right. Just...a bit overloaded for awhile, if you get my meaning."

"Yeah, I do." Banks regarded him steadily, complete understanding in his eyes.

The smaller half of the partnership suddenly took a deep breath and pulled back slightly. "C'mon, Jim. You need to get off this cold floor." Rising to his feet, Blair reached down to help his partner up. "Thanks, Simon," he said over his shoulder as the big captain helped the unsteady detective to reach the vertical. Feeling the Sentinel stiffen, Sandburg glanced around, wondering what had upset his partner now. "Jim, what is it?" he asked worriedly.

Following Ellison's line of sight, he glanced down into the room below, filled with busy professionals calmly going about their business. 'Whoa', he thought distantly, 'Both Jim and I must've been zoned; I didn't hear these people come in. Hell, even Stephen's bo...'

With shocking abruptness, the white tape which had been used to outline the younger Ellison's body came into brilliant clarity. The coroner's office having already removed the body, all that remained was the outline. Tearing himself away from Ellison, Blair stumbled backward, but the outline refused to disappear, remaining large and accusing in his mind. He lurched back again, slamming into the wall.

"Chief! What is it?"

The grad student didn't hear the anxious question, or notice Jim reaching for him. All he could see was the stark, white outline; all he could hear was the horrible crunching sound Stephen's body had made as it fell those last few steps.

Becoming seriously alarmed, Ellison placed his hands on Blair's cheeks and tried to make the smaller man look at him. "Blair, come on here, buddy. You're scaring me." Sandburg's face was icy cold and dripping with sweat; the azure eyes were glazed and staring. "Blair, talk to me." The younger man didn't seem to hear him; he was lost in some nightmare only he could see. Listening to the familiar heart beat double, triple, Ellison was frantic. "Blair!"

"I killed him." The anthropologist's voice was eerily flat. "I _killed_ Stephen." A huge shudder shook the compact body; the darkened eyes suddenly noticed the other man. "I-I killed him, Jim." Breath coming in rapid, shallow pants, he stuttered, "I-I killed S-Stephen, Jim. I killed your _brother_!"

"Blair, no! Listen to me..."

Respiration increasingly rapid and uneven, Blair choked out, "I-I'm sorry, Jim; I'm sorry! Don't hate me, p-please? I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." The swirling blackness thickening around him, he gave into it gratefully, never hearing his partner's desperate reassurances.

* * *

Deciding he didn't want to wake up just yet, Blair snuggled deeper into the warm strength enfolding him. Feeling a soft kiss pressed to the top of his head, he smiled and murmured, "Jim."

'This is the life', he thought smugly, not remembering how he came to be tucked against his Sentinel, but extremely content to be so. How wasn't important, he told himself firmly, yet his mind refused to listen. Flashes of memory came to the fore...he and Simon walking into the loft...a wave of agonized terror...the loud, cracking snap of bones breaking...

Forewarned by the abrupt escalation of Sandburg's drowsy heart beat, Jim was ready when his Guide went rigid. "Shh, baby, shh. It's all right," he crooned softly. "Just relax; everything is going to be all right."

"All _right_!?" cried Blair, voice high and panicky. He struggled to free himself from the arms banding him, but Ellison had no intention of letting go. Giving in, but remaining tense and stiff, he exclaimed, "How can everything be all right? I killed him! Oh, god, Jim--I k-killed your brother!"

"No, Blair!" Ellison's voice was firm. "Listen to me...just listen!" he insisted as Sandburg made another abortive attempt to escape his embrace.

Subsiding once again when Jim refused to let go, Sandburg lay quiescent. But he kept his eyes firmly fixed downward, too afraid to see the anger and disgust which he knew must be present in the cornflower blue eyes.

Pausing only to adjust the bed covers back around the younger man's shoulders, Jim said levelly, "You did _not_ kill Stephen, Chief. What happened was not planned; it was an accident, do you hear me?"

Refusing to accept the absolution, Blair mumbled, "Planned or not, I still killed him. I threw that piece of rock crystal Naomi sent us and hit him, making him lose his balance."

"He had already lost his balance, Chief. It wasn't your fault." When Blair remained silent, Ellison stated quietly, "You didn't kill him, Blair. I know that; Simon knows that, everyone does. It was an accident."

Beginning to tremble, Blair grabbed the muscular body, pressing close. "H-He was gonna kill you, Jim. I couldn't let that happen; I couldn't!"

"I know, Chief, I know." Rubbing soothing circles across the smooth back, Jim planted a kiss on one soft temple. "You saved my life. Thank you."

Finally daring to look up, Blair was stunned to see only tenderness and deep regret in the clear blue eyes. He apologized hoarsely, "I'm sorry, Jim. I never meant to hurt your brother. Please don't hate me."

His gut clenching at the torment he saw in the tear-filled eyes pleading with him, Jim choked back a moan. Pulling Sandburg impossibly closer, he held on tightly as he whispered in a raw voice, "Hate you? Nothing you could ever do would make me hate you, Chief. I love you, need you, too much to ever do that. I'm just so sorry that you had to...that you got mixed up in all of this madness. God, I'm sorry."

Pushing his own jumbled emotions aside, Sandburg reached up and, placing a hand on the handsome face, said softly, "It's all right, Jim; I know." He ran his fingers up and down the soft cheek as he admitted, "I don't regret throwing that rock at Stephen; he was going to kill you. I'd do it again in a minute if necessary. It's just that...he was your brother, man."

"Yeah, he was," Jim said heavily. "But that's not all he was, and you know it. Simon told me how the two of you put everything together and were coming here to tell me." Reaching up to grasp the hand caressing his face, he forced Blair to meet his eyes. "Stephen was also an adulterer and an embezzler. He was the man who killed three people--one of them a six year old child--simply because they were an inconvenience to him. He was the man who coldly arranged to have Carolyn murdered. He was also the one who sabotaged the boilers at Hargrove Hall, trying to kill you."

"I hear that, Jim. I do. But--Stephen's dead and I..." Biting his lip reflectively, eyes somber, Blair looked away. "This one's gonna hang around, man. I think I'll need some help with it."

"We both will," admitted Jim. "This mess cut deep into both of us." Giving a sigh, he continued, "You know what, Chief? Of all the vicious shit he did, I think I hate him the most for going after you. It was too damn close." He screwed his eyes closed for a moment then, opening them, lost himself in the depthless blue eyes gazing so lovingly at him. "He tried to take you away from me, Chief. That's the worst thing he could've done. I can't handle you being gone."

"You'll never have to, Jim," assured Blair through his tears. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me forever, man. Deal?"

"Deal." Ellison smiled. Then, remembering how Blair liked to seal his promises, he gave in to his oldest longing. Leaning down, he captured the full lips in a hard, passionate kiss.

* * *

End


End file.
